


All Things Old and New

by teacup_of_doom



Series: Here There Are Dragons [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, And what truly makes one, Bagginshield if you squint, Bilbo's riddling comes back to haunt him (her?), Chocolate Gold Coins, Conference Room 2, Dragon baiting, Dwarrow, F/M, Female John Watson, Frerin is a little shit, Frerin loves his nephews, Gen, Greg Lestrade is confused, Hobbit Curses, M/M, Male Bilbo, Mouth on Autopilot, Other, Past Lives, Sherlock sets fires., Shouting in general, Shouting of Westron, Smauglock, When your best friend is a dragon - and knows it, canon compliant up to a point, hoards, shiny things
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-20
Updated: 2016-08-10
Packaged: 2018-03-08 10:40:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 27,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3206234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teacup_of_doom/pseuds/teacup_of_doom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All around the world, people are remembering past lives. Bilbo Baggins discovers that Tookish streaks can span lifetimes  - and can have unintended, hilarious, consequences.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to laughing_phoenix for betaing this, and for encouraging me to write this insanity.

* * *

 

 Bilbo Baggins had woken the dragon. To be fair, that had never not been an option, coins tended to jangle together when they were in _great, sodding, piles_. Start a landslide - and well, cue one dragon. Having expected to be eaten - which wasn’t exactly out of the realm of possibility still - Bilbo had been honestly surprised when, instead of doing so, Smaug had wrapped himself around the Hobbit and settled in for a nice chat.

It had been better, some small Took part of him was suggesting, when the whole thing had been one big game of ‘cat and mouse’.

Smaug seemed to be enjoying himself at least. Bilbo wasn’t sure if his muscles were cramping from the terror, or from being forcibly curled up against the dragon’s tail - which wasn’t all that bad, as the scales were warmer than Bilbo had been in days. He was also, impossibly, getting a bit annoyed. Yes, he’d expected a giant fire-breathing lizard to be a bit full of itself, but…not to this scale.

Smaug had expounded at length on the status of Men, Elves and Dwarrow as lesser beings. Smaug claimed that dragons were more intelligent than all of the other creatures of Middle Earth, with more knowledge of the minds of the other races - except for the Luck-Wearers, oddly -  and that Dragons should have been the Firstborn of Arda. They were rulers of the skies, and hoards of treasure called to them like beacons. They kept the race of Dwarrow in check by attacking - for their own good, of course - when the dwarrow got too greedy. Besides, the dragons needed the riches more. They deserved it.

“You are lucky that you are not one of them, little creature.” Smaug said, one big, yellow eye watching Bilbo thoughtfully. “The elves, the dwarrow, the men. Vermin, a disease across of all Arda.” Smaug boomed. “Otherwise I would have eaten you immediately. And you are so _very_ interesting.”

Smaug’s tail seemed to tighten around Bilbo, ever so slightly. From his spot against Smaug’s tail, Bilbo could only gulp as somewhere in his belly - inexplicably - anger brewed. “I’m not - I’m not really.” He said.

“No?” Smaug drawled. “Not many creatures would walk into a dragon’s den with no wish for treasure for themselves. You said that your people have no use for gold. You were honest. I fail to understand why anyone would not want gold; it glimmers so prettily - it _shines_ \- it _calls_.” The dragon’s voice drifted off, dreamily, as if momentarily forgetting his captive audience.

“I don’t want it.” Bilbo said, not even lying, though the Arkenstone lay tucked into his pocket. “I just…You hoard gold, “ he waved his arms around, indicating the treasure room of Erebor. Smaug gazed down at him, interested. “I hoard things  - collect things - too.”

“And what is it you collect, Barrel-Rider?” Smaug sounded amused, even curious.

“I collect stories.” Bilbo said simply, though he was lying out of sheer panic - anything to keep Smaug from killing him.

“Stories?” Smaug asked, confused.

“Yes.” Bilbo said. Now he was on comfortable territory. “I write them down, so that other people can read them. Most people don’t travel far in their lives, ever. There’s no need. Stories help them to see what they might never see with their own eyes. Hear of great heroes and great deeds - or even of dragons.” He smiled awkwardly. “I never thought that I’d - that I’d become part of a story. Just an old codger aging with his books.” He laughed, nervously. “I don’t suppose I’ll get to write it down now, either.”

“Perhaps.” Smaug said, his head setting on his claws, never once taking his eyes off of Bilbo. “You shall. Perhaps, if you tell me where the dwarrow you were traveling with are. I know you’ve been to see Men - I can smell them on you. But the dwarrow are nearby.  I know it. Their vile scent drifts through the mountain. I know what they want. My gold.” Smaug growled. “My treasure.”

“I told you, I don’t know any dwarrow other than the traders who allowed me to travel with them.” Bilbo swore unconvincingly. “They have no interest in your gold, O Smaug the Magnificent.”

Smaug rose up like smoke from a chimney, once again showing Bilbo the missing scale on the dragon’s chest. “ _Liar_.” He roared. “ _You dare to lie to me?_ ”

There was really no-where for Bilbo to go. “No! No!” He yelled, and then, because he could not stop his mouth. “Alright, they are nearby - but have no interest in your riches O Smaug! They are my friends! We’ve been through so much to get here! They just wanted to see their homeland, just once! Please.” He begged. “No one means any harm!”

“I will be the judge of that, little thief-ling. And I will judge them by fire.” Smaug rumbled, and lifted his tail from around Bilbo. Bilbo fought hard against the impulse to jam on his Ring and scramble away.  As it was, he was scrambling backwards as fast as the gold around him would allow it.“And then I will be back for you. Vermin, whatever you are, like the rest of the races of Arda.” He snarled.

It is in the most extreme moments of danger that extraordinary things happen. In this case, it was the snapping of Bilbo Baggins' temper, and a Tookish disregard for his own safety.

“Fine.” Bilbo yelled back. “Fine, if I’m going to die, then I’m going to speak my mind. At least I’ll die having given you a piece of it.”

Smaug seemed somewhat taken aback, paused in his rage. Bilbo didn’t notice. He was having a bit of a temper tantrum of his own. Months of aggravating travel and misfortune finally reaching Bilbo's breaking point.

“You know what? I think you’re one of the most narcissistic beings I’ve ever encountered. You go on, and on about being smarter, and stronger, and being the most deadly thing for miles  - which, of course you are.” Bilbo breathed. “But you also take the long-winded cake for being the most idiotic! And I’ve met Thorin _sodding_ Oakenshield, who thinks he’s Durin’s gift to dwarrowdom!” Bilbo continued, on a roll, becoming increasingly red in the face. “And he’s all _majestic_ , and _broody_ , and when he _smiles_ \- no, forget I said that last bit. But _you_ \- you think you’re this great, brilliant, beast - which you are, O Smaug - but look at you! You’re the creature who thought it was ok to slam your way into a mountain, kill thousands, and squat there, sleeping for decades _because you like shiny things_.” Bilbo viciously kicked some gold coins. “Look at all of this! It’s sitting here, completely _useless_ , because you needed the most expensive bed in all of Arda - at least dwarrow know how to make things out of the stuff! Wait, hold on, you probably defecate in this too! I could be wandering about in _dragon shit_. And _there’s_ a thought I wish I’d never had.”

Just inside the secret door, the Company of Thorin Oakenshield was suddenly privy to a very loud, very clear Hobbit voice ranting. Most of the Company was in the process of stuffing their (rather filthy) sleeves into their mouths to keep from dying of laughter. How very like their Hobbit to chide just about anything that moved. Thorin Oakenshield, having caught the bit about his smile - choosing to ignore the rest - sat very still with his eyes wide, and a nearly imperceptible grin.

Bilbo glared at a strangely silent Smaug. “You think you’re above them all? You’re just as bad as all the races! You want wealth, and gold, and gems, and all that junk ! I mean look at this!” He held up a golden cup, similar to the one he’d stolen earlier. 

“Someone could be making good use of this, right now. And what’s it doing? _Sitting about as bedding_! You know what we call these things back home - you’ll appreciate this- they’re called mathoms. Why? Because they’re shiny and not much use for anything. Know what we do with things like this? We put them in a museum and then forget they ever existed!” Bilbo panted. “I don’t understand it! You, the dwarrow, all of those Elves and the Men. _It’s just shiny metal_! Things should be made to be _useful_. Like shovels, or pies, or water wheels. People shouldn’t want to hoard things unless they’re cookies. Cookies, you can at least make more of and enjoy. They don’t collect dust, only children!” Bilbo felt the rant slipping away from him. Smaug was giving him this…unsettling look.

However, Bilbo suddenly couldn’t stop him mouth. “I hope-“ he said, waggling his finger at the dragon. “Someday, if you ever die, I hope you’re reincarnated as an elf, or a man, or a dwarrow. Just so you can experience just how _inferior_ you would be. And you know what else? I hope you keep that big brain of yours too, just so you _know_ how smart you are!” Bilbo huffed. “ _See how you like things then_. I want to be there, just to see it.” He said spitefully. “And since you apparently _like_ me so much, I can carry on being such an _interesting little creature_ then too!”

There was a moment of silence. Bilbo realized that everything he just said had probably not been advisable. Smaug, still staring at Bilbo, cocked his large, scaly, head to one side, and then lowered his face until it was only a few feet from Bilbo. Bilbo could see the fire in Smaug’s belly beginning to form, and shuddered in in sudden terror.

“That, little Luck-Bearer, was very rude indeed.” The dragon hissed. “You, I will deal with _slowly_ , until you _beg_ for death.” Smaug reared up. “I shall deal with the men of the lake, and then your dwarrow.” The dragon practically smiled. “I would run, creature. _Run_.”

Bilbo only managed to get some form of safety in the form of a broken pillar before the dragon attacked.

Laketown burned, Smaug died at the hand of Bard the Bowman. And in the battle that followed, so did Thorin, and Fili, and Kili. Bilbo wept with grief and went back to the Shire a broken Hobbit. Fifty years later, he was too old, too bent to the lure of the Ring, to carry it on another adventure to Mordor - too old to truly comfort his similarly broken nephew when he came back from that perilous journey. Together set forth for what they believed would be their last adventure into the West.

Bilbo should have known better. Adventures are funny things. Who is to say that when one ends, another might begin?

Life is, after all, an adventure all it’s own.

* * *

 

Jane Watson had once thought that she had enough of adventures - she’d spent fifteen years in the army, after all. Adventures - one could, in the right mindset, also label them Trouble - kept finding her. Now she spent most of her waking hours, when not at the clinic, chasing after a mad consulting detective with ridiculous cheekbones. And she liked doing it. Cases were so different from the army. She ran behind Sherlock, laughing, adrenaline pumping in her veins, a sense of freedom at her fingertips.  It was like walking into a dragon’s den every time. Every foiled burglary, every arrest.  Especially with Sherlock there, standing with her at the sidelines. It was odd, but sometimes standing, watching what happened, Sherlock at her side (or her at his?) felt so familiar a thing that she sometimes wondered…

It was getting common now, remembering past lives. These days, someone came into the clinic every other week asking for a referral to a psychologist who was specializing in these things. People would wake up remembering past lives, past deeds. Anything could trigger it. From ordering a cup of coffee at the local shop in the morning, to watching a movie, walking the dog - anything. It came on without warning. Sometimes, the recollections were not pleasant. She’d heard from a colleague that there had been a wonderful, devoted mother of three who had walked into a psychology ward up north, asking to be committed immediately, having remembered a life as a vicious male serial killer and afraid of hurting anyone. Sometimes the remembrances were pleasant. In the paper Jane had read that a gay couple had both awoken to their previous lives at the same time and discovered that they had been happily married once before - they’d only just started going out in this one - and immediately walked to the nearest church to have their vows said again.

Jane had always thought it unlikely that she’d have such a recollection. She never tried to think about whom she might have been. She had enough to do, living with a madcap, high-functioning sociopath with a tendency to burn her jumpers when she didn’t keep track.

That being said, Sherlock occasionally got this odd look on his face - she’d caught him once or twice - staring at her as if she held all the answers of the universe, or something. He’d look away from her quickly, when she caught him, but never explained why he did it. The first few times Jane had asked, Sherlock had pretended that he hadn’t been staring, and they’d nearly exchanged verbal blows. It was possible that Sherlock had had a recollection of his own, but being Sherlock, hadn’t told anyone.

The whole idea that she’d remember anything was fairly preposterous anyway. With her luck, she’d been the bloke who’d invented self-checkout machines for grocery stories. (If Sherlock could hold a grudge, she could too.)

With all of her pondering on the issue, Jane shouldn't have really been surprised when one day, looking over case files at New Scotland Yard, she’d stood up from the huddle around Lestrade’s desk to get herself more tea, and time seemed to stand still. Later, she’d describe it as having every moment of her life stretch out, her mind grow bigger to incorporate two sets of memories, to have a second - first? - life play out before her own in a number of seconds. To feel grief, and sorrow, and pain, and heartbreak as a sudden punch to the gut, and at the same time, joy, and peace, and laughter, happiness and warmth so quickly and overpowering as to make her giddy.

She somehow managed to stay standing amidst the memories of battle, of the Ring, _of being male once_ , of adopting Frodo and of at last finishing _There and Back Again_. Of throwing Lobelia Sackville-Baggins out of Bag End, of meeting Gloin again one last time in Rivendell. Of finally meeting Gimli. Of the last of the ships to leave the shores of Middle Earth for the lands of the Valar. A million moments, little moments - her mother’s raspberry scones, her father’s laugh, the feel of the dirt beneath large Hobbit feet as they ran through the fields - and a billion other memories swam before her eyes.

She must have dropped her cup, because it was that noise that startled her out of the recollection. Then next thing she knew, she was on her knees, and Greg was in front of her, gazing, concerned, into her face. He’d been calling her name. Jane gasped, drawing breath for what felt like the first time.

“Jane?” Greg asked, the silver of his hair glinting under the LED lighting like flecks of mithril. “Are you ok?”

It took Jane a moment to speak. “I -“ she tried to get the words out. “I remember.” She said hoarsely. “Greg. I remember.”

“Remember what?” He asked, confused.

“Everything.” Jane said, trying to focus on the man in front of her. “Everything. From before.”

Greg’s eyes widened in comprehension. “Shit.” He breathed. “I’m going to get you a doctor.”

“No, I don’t need-“ Jane tried to protest, but Greg was already yelling for an ambulance or any available car to take her to the A&E. Every word he said seemed to translate into Elvish and back again, as if trying to decide what language should be primary. She felt as unsubstantial as a wisp of smoke. She couldn’t stand if she’d tried.

“Someone’s going to have to tell Sherlock.” Donovan’s voice came from somewhere in the haze. “He’s going to want to go with her.”

 _Sherlock_. Jane’s mind supplied. And then his voice hit her - a recollection from both her lives. _Smaug_. Her mind supplied again. Her current life’s memories of the detective constantly staring at her. Instead of being concerned, as she probably should have been - she’d been living with the sodding dragon after all - Jane threw back her head and laughed. _Sherlock was Smaug_. At least she was fairly damn certain he was Smaug and knew it - she just needed confirmation

She looked back towards Greg, and now Donovan, who were looking at her with expressions clearly conveying that they thought she’d gone mad. Through her giggles Jane managed to gasp. “Greg. Don’t tell Sherlock. Not yet!” She managed to forestall his protests. “I need to speak to Mycroft first. Right now. I need to do so before I talk to Sherlock. And cancel the doctor, I’m absolutely fine.”

Greg’s eyebrows rose, and began to look somewhat panicked. “The ambulance is already on it’s way, I’m not canceling it. Why do you need to talk to Mycroft?”

Jane shook her head. “I need to ask him something, it’s important.”

When it was clear that Jane wouldn’t be telling them anything further, Greg sighed, and dragged Jane to her feet. “Fine. Conference room two, come on.”

Inside the conference room, Jane was still giggling in shock as Greg pulled her in, Donovan following after them, shutting and locking the door behind her. Greg dialed whatever number he had for Mycroft and left the conferencing machine speaker on, leaning on two chairs and hovering closer to the apparatus.

Mycroft picked up his phone promptly. “Inspector Lestrade. Good afternoon. What might I help you with?”

Greg glanced at Jane, who felt and must have looked calmer, because the detective inspector replied with. “Jane’s had some sort of - it seems like she’s remembered a past life.”

There was a short pause on the other end of the line. “I see.” Mycroft said, after a moment’s clear consideration. “Any ill effects?”

“She immediately wanted to talk to you.” Greg replied, watching Jane carefully. “She won’t tell me why. And she won’t let us tell Sherlock until she’s spoken to you.”

“Where is she?”

“Right here.” Greg said. “Jane?”

“Lo’ Mycroft.” Jane said loudly so that Mycroft could hear her.

“Doctor Watson.” Mycroft said gently, tentatively. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine. Perfect. But I suspect Greg won’t accept that until I’ve been looked over.” Jane replied, grinning. “I also want raspberry scones.”

Greg rolled his eyes and mouthed ‘damn straight’ at her, and then ‘scones?’ Jane ignored him.

“Any particular reason you wished to speak to me, and not inform my brother immediately? He will be most aggrieved.” Mycroft asked, curiously, ignoring her craving for scones. “Perhaps, if - Do I feature in your past life? Is that why you wished to speak to me?”

“No, I’m sorry Mycroft. You don’t feature in my past life,” Jane said, and she could somehow tell that he was a little disappointed by the way the pattern of his breathing changed. “But Sherlock might have. I don’t want to broach the subject with him unless I know for sure, and I don’t know if he’s ever actually ‘woken up’. So, you are his brother, and still know him better than I do…”

“You wished to confirm if I had noticed anything that might have construed similar behavior to my brother’s in a past life. Mycroft sounded genuinely curious this time. “Ask away. I will try to answer as best I can.”

Jane bit her lip, trying to think of a way to phrase her questions adequately. She was aware that Sally and Greg were watching her like a pair of hawks. “Did Sherlock collect things as a child?” She decided to ask first.

“Certainly,” Mycroft drawled. “Dead birds, vials of things we couldn’t identify, notebooks full of childish observations - “

Jane made a discordant hum. “Did he collect shiny things?”

“Shiny?” Mycroft asked, confused.

“Coins, bits of buttons, gold?” Jane offered.

“No.” Mycroft replied slowly. “I do not believe so. With the exception of golden coin chocolate wrappers, on occasion.”

“Right.” Jane muttered under her breath. “Not what I needed.” She tried to think of what else might indicate Smaug was currently cohabiting Sherlock’s brainspace. Then it came to her. “What about - Did Sherlock ever go through a particularly heavy phase of pyromania?”

There was an even longer pause on Mycroft’s end, so long that Jane thought that they’d been cut off. Eventually, Mycroft’s voice came back on the line, sounding somewhat strangled, “when Sherlock was about five years old, he had a habit of setting almost everything - from trees to whatever burned satisfactorily, to flame. It was observed by myself, and several of the psychologists our parents hired, that he would set these fires while in a rage, or as if he was conducting an experiment. Whatever he expected to happen, no one - including myself, knew what - it did not seem to go as he had planned. Sherlock would stare at the flames balefully, before snarling at them in what appeared to be frustration, and then stalk away to leave whatever it was to burn. He seemed to outgrow the phase, but it lasted for years. No one in the family, as far as I am aware, has mentioned these events to any outsider, and the psychologists were swore to secrecy. There was, at one point, quite a bit of property damage caused by these fires. Jane, I am afraid to ask, but I would like to know exactly how you knew about Sherlock’s pyromaniac activities, and what would have caused them. I would also like to point out that you are suggesting that Sherlock remembered a past life at the age of five.”

Jane was grinning like a loon. In her mind’s eye, she could imagine tiny, curly-haired Sherlock setting fires in an attempt to kindle them himself. As if he was still Smaug, trying to regain his fire-breathing abilities. The gold coin chocolate wrappers made sense too - where would a child get real gold coins? Admittedly, tiny Smauglock would have preferred real gold.

For a split second, Jane wondered why Sherlock hadn’t gone into finance, where he could have acquired real gold. Why hadn’t he?

She was brought out of the thought by a polite cough from Mycroft’s end of the line.

“Sorry.” Jane said, trying to keep her composure. “Yes, actually. I think Sherlock, being Sherlock, did remember at the age of five. What you’re saying about the fires, it actually makes perfect sense, for - erm, who Sherlock used to be.” She started to giggle. “Please tell me you have photos and that I can use them as blackmail.”

Mycroft snorted. “Even if I did, I and I do not, I would be giving up one of my own blackmail sources, and the chances of that are unlikely.”

Jane laughed aloud and ended up putting both hands to her face to smother it. Sherlock was Smaug and Mycroft was being funny. It was all so surreal.

“Jane?” Mycroft asked seriously. “Was Sherlock some sort of pyromaniac in a past life?”

Jane couldn’t help it, she started snorting with laughter so hard that she bent double with it, and Sally had to rub her back to calm her down. “You could say that!” Jane managed to gasp between bouts of laughter. “By the Valar,” she muttered under her breath, shakily. “Oh, I never thought that I’d be having this conversation.” She managed to choke out “I’ll tell you what Sherlock was after I talk to him. You’d never believe me now. Not in a million years.”

Mycroft’s pause was shorter this time, and he actually sounded amused. “Very well. I will see you for tea after you've told Sherlock. Goodbye Jane, and good luck.” Mycroft hung up, the conference room receiver winked off. 

One look at the expressions on Greg and Sally’s faces set Jane off again.

“Jane.” Greg said, when her laughter - now bordering on the hysterical - slowed. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

“Fine.” Jane said, waving him off. “Just fine. I promise.” She really wasn’t, but she’d deal with that later.

The medics came and went - assuring Greg that Jane was fine, and this reaction was actually normal for those whom this happened to - or screaming, but as Jane hadn’t done that they weren’t so concerned. Still, they gave Greg and Jane a ‘things to watch for in a person with newly remembered lives’ brochure, as well as the names of several psychologists - some of whom Jane already knew - who were considered experts at “past life related post - traumatic stress disorder”, and went off again. Jane was still refusing to have someone tell Sherlock, to Greg’s annoyance. She wanted to do this herself.

Jane brushed her hair, washed the tears from her eyes, and waited. She tried not to think too deeply about things, absorbing herself in case files, but it really was a useless effort. Especially when she realized she’d been writing up some of her favorite hobbit-food recipes in her notebook, rather than case notes.

Thankfully, Sherlock soon came back from the records room he’d secluded himself in, an annoyed looking constable following Sherlock with a box of evidence. Sherlock was carrying a cup of coffee and a pile of extra case files, actually assisting with the dirty work of his own free will this time. He did not look in Jane’s direction once before he started pulling files out of boxes and tossing them quite literally all over the surrounding area, muttering things like “no” and “wrong” in what had to be the loudest mutter known to Man, if not Dragon.

Greg had taken up a position near Sally’s desk, where he could watch both Jane and Sherlock at the same time, and still get a good view of what he clearly considered to be some sort of action.

Jane did not approach Sherlock right away. Instead, she spent a few minutes observing, careful not to raise Sherlock’s suspicions. Sherlock was, indeed, the tall and lanky creature that Bilbo Baggins had once yelled that he’d wanted Smaug to become. The only real visible trace of Smaug that Sherlock still carried was the cheekbones. They were high, and ridiculous, and fit well in the former dragon’s face. Sherlock moved languidly, every movement coiled just so, as elegantly as Smaug had ever been, even with his giant size. While Sherlock was diminutive compared to his previous incarnation, he still took up room without physically needing to fill it. People moved around him, gave Sherlock a wide berth. There was still a kind of raw power in that long frame, just under the skin, she could still feel it, even if Jane wasn't so sure what it was.

With any luck, it wouldn’t be dragon fire. (Though, with human physiology, dragon fire probably wasn’t possible - probably. It was Sherlock, and he had a tendency to surprise.)

Suddenly nervous, Jane wasn’t entirely certain how to broach the fact that she was very cognisant of having once been a Burglar in the Company of Thorin Oakenshield, Dragon Riddler and Bearer of the One Ring (though Smaug wouldn’t have known about that), with said dragon.

Fate, or the Valar (she’d _met_ Yavanna once) , seemed to take care of that for her. Sherlock absentmindedly took a sip of his coffee, found it cold, and made a sound that was so _Smaug-like_ that Jane couldn’t help laughing. Sherlock’s head jerked up, locating the source of the laughing, he glared in Jane’s direction.

“What?” He grumbled at her.

Jane had been planning how she was going to reveal herself for the past half hour. She’d run it over and over again in her head. That plan was now completely defunct. On autopilot, (the newly awakened Baggins in her having a mild freakout), Jane’s rebellious mouth decided that a very Tookish approach to reincarnation was required. “Oi! Longshanks! Got anything _shiny_?”

The effect, Greg later told her, was instantaneous. Sherlock’s coffee cup smashed to the floor, the cold brew splattering everything in a five foot radius. The case files Sherlock had been holding flew the opposite direction, into the air, where they drifted like oversized confetti.

“You! You thief! _Do you know how long I’ve been waiting?!_ ” Sherlock shrieked, pointing a finger at her and advancing in Jane’s direction, gesturing at himself with one exaggerated, jerky movement. “ _Look what you’ve done to me! I’m hideous!_ ” He wasn't speaking English, but then Jane hadn't called out in English either. 

Any decent reply Jane would have had to that was completely swallowed up by her howls of laughter. She was clutching her belly, trying to respond to the advancing consulting detective, tears of laughter pooling at the inner corners of her eyes. Sherlock was then looming over her.

“Stop laughing!” Smauglock demanded, fists on his hips. “I’ve been waiting _forever_ for you to wake up. I’ve had to go through _human puberty_ and you’ve just been - I said to stop laughing!”

Jane’s chair toppled over backwards, and she made no move to get up, having narrowly escaped banging her head on the floor - gasping for air between giggles.

“ _Jane_!” Roared Smauglock.

“ _Never_!” Jane managed to exclaim, and then shrieked in laughter as Sherlock began advancing again. "Worth every one of my jumpers you're going to burn for it. _Every_. _Last_. _One_." She mock cooed from her position on the floor. "Who is a ferocious former dragon then?"

And then Greg was between them, along with Sally, who was pulling Jane and her chair up again with sheer strength. “Right.” Greg said slowly, looking betwixt the former dragon and hobbit cautiously, holding a hard out to stop Sherlock’s forward momentum. “Can you two maybe try English? I don’t know _what_ you’re speaking, but…”

Jane sniggered from Sally’s stabilizing grasp. Sherlock snarled, and stalked away screaming something derogatory about Greg in Westron.

“You never did answer me!” Jane yelled at his retreating back in English, ignoring the whole of Scotland Yard, who were staring at this point.

“ _At least I’m not still short this time around_!” Sherlock bellowed in English from the hallway, petulantly refusing to answer her question.

Jane cackled, tears streaming down her face, until Greg called the paramedics to come back.

 

**End**

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. A Hoard by Any Other Name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Name calling, chocolate, and hoards. Or how Jane and Sherlock - formerly Bilbo Baggins and Smaug - try to work together in their new, modern, lives. 
> 
> And who's that at the "Past Life Registration Office"?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I wasn't going to, but herein you will find Dwarrow. And laughter, and snark. 
> 
> I'm a little blown away by the response to the first chapter! Thank you to everyone who read it! 
> 
> Also, thanks go to laughing_phoenix and taverntales for encouraging this insanity. And beta-ing. And laughing for letting me make them laugh.

* * *

 

In the weeks following her remembrance of once being Bilbo Baggins, Jane and Sherlock (once Smaug, the chieftest of calamities) had achieved a certain sense of equilibrium in dealing with one another and their past lives.  

It had helped that, upon calming down after Jane’s revelation, Sherlock had summarily dragged Jane home to 221b, made them both a cup of tea (which Jane naturally checked for foreign substances before she partook), and attempted to hash out how they would continue their mutually beneficial co-existence. (Sherlock’s words, not Jane’s.)

It came out that Sherlock, after waking up on his fifth birthday, had ascertained that he was Smaug in a smaller body - a less convenient, but more nimble one, found he didn’t mind it in the least (until puberty - how he had loathed puberty) - and had decided to simply accept it. The name ‘Sherlock’ had just been a name to live under.

Jane had asked, sipping her tea.”So you don’t see yourself as both Sherlock and Smaug - just Smaug?”

“No.” Sherlock scowled. “Why would I? I am Smaug. It is who I was before, and who I am now. Only smaller,” he glared briefly at Jane, who grinned cheekily back. “And with a great desire for Hobnobs.”

“I’ve noticed.” Jane commented dryly. “We go through a packet every two days.”

“It isn’t my fault that Men eventually began to make good biscuits.” Sherlock grumbled, slinking into his seat, arms crossed over his chest. Jane hid her grin behind more tea.

“You don’t hoard gold.” Jane commented suddenly. “When I spoke to Mycroft, he said something akin to that. I should have realized really, you’re terrible with money.”

Sherlock sniffed, but something in his eyes caught light and he leaned forward towards her. “No. Not in this life.” He spread his arms wide. “Look around at this Age, Jane. What do you see? Men and Elves and Dwarrow leaping about with swords? Hoards of gold and precious gems? No. Because while they are valuable in this time, there is something much more valuable.”

Jane raised an eyebrow when Sherlock gave a dramatic pause.

“ _Knowledge_.” Sherlock breathed. “What people really act like, their habits, clues into what people should do when, and how.”

“Makes sense,” Jane said evenly. “We do live in the so-called ‘Information Age’.” She hummed and leaned back in her chair, thinking. “So, knowledge and chocolate coin wrappers.”  


Sherlock glared and leaned towards her, closing the distance. “ _How did you know about the wrappers_?” He hissed.

Jane bit her lip. Giggles were threatening her composure again. “Mycroft said something about it. That, and before you came back from your Moriarty-themed road trip, Mrs. Hudson and I took the liberty of tidying your room a bit. We opened a cupboard and hundreds of foil wrappers fell out. We kept them, but weren’t sure what they were for.” Jane’s mouth twitched. “I’m surprised I didn’t have my little flashback then!”

Sherlock sniffed dismissively at the attempted joke. “That is my hoard. Do not touch my hoard again, little Thief. Unless you are planning to add to it.” He said meaningfully.

Jane bit the inside of her cheek. “Do I get to eat the chocolate?”

“Yes.”

“Then I’d be happy to add to your hoard, Sherlock.”

The smile Sherlock gave her would be worth the cost and effort of finding the chocolate gold coins this time of year.

“Wait, little Thief?”

“You never told me your real name.” Sherlock huffed. “Oh, Barrel-Rider.”

Jane grinned.

“Or should I say Luck-Wearer?” Sherlock continued.

Jane’s smile dimmed.

“Mistress Lucky Number?” Sherlock asked, feigning an air of concern. “I do _so_ want to get it right.”

“You’re taking the piss.” Jane scoffed in horror.

“Tell me what your name was, Thief in the Shadows, and I’ll stop.”

Jane looked contrite for a moment. Sherlock got out of his chair and loomed over her, dragon-like. “Tell me, I demand it.”

Jane stared up at him. And then gave Sherlock the best shit-eating grin she could muster, bringing her face close to Sherlock’s. “Deduce it, dragon-man!”

Sherlock snarled loudly. “I should have _eaten_ you when I had the chance.”

“ _What?!_ ”

Mrs. Hudson’s loud exclamation of shock sent Jane into a fit of raucous laughter - her third of the day - more so because Mrs. Hudson, who’d come upstairs with the intention of visiting, had such a horrified look on her face that it bordered on the ridiculous.

* * *

After that, things in 221b went back to (relatively) normal. Mrs. Hudson came around just a bit more often, saying that she was checking on them, but Jane suspected otherwise. Jane formed coping strategies. Well, one particular strategy, really. She was a (former) Hobbit after all. And that meant cooking. Soon the flat was full of jam scones, roasted chickens, chilis, stews, homebrewed beer (that Greg, and even Sally turned a blind eye to), and desserts. Sherlock put on five pounds within the month. Jane felt as if she was probably going to do the same, but didn’t quite care. At least Sherlock was eating, and they were buying less Hobnobs than they had been before. (Which was also bizarre problem - as Jane found that she’d started craving them.)

There was still one hiccup that marred their equilibrium. As Jane went about her life as normal, or as normal as Jane’s life ever was, Sherlock had started behaving oddly. He’d become more than a little possessive of Jane, who was starting to get annoyed by it.

Dimmock’s crew asked her out for drinks one afternoon, and Sherlock was immediately at her elbow, telling them (forcefully) that she had previously scheduled plans (Jane had had no such thing). Sally had touched Jane on the shoulder as they leaned over crime scene photos, and Sherlock had _growled_ from across the room until Sally had taken her hand away. Greg had been glared at for an hour and a half when he’d anticipated Jane’s hunger one evening and bought her a ham and cheese sandwich. (The fact that Sherlock had shown up the next day with prosciutto and pesto sandwiches and had all but declared to the station that it was _his_ job to feed Jane made things worse.) Even more troubling, the consulting detective had begun to come to Tesco’s with Jane. Sherlock hated Tescos with the fiery passion of a thousand suns (or a thousand angry fire drakes), and would usually never set foot in one willingly. Jane was both getting sick of it, and seriously concerned.

Greg and Sally had begun to voice their concerns, asking if Jane needed help.

Jane had sighed, cornered in Sally’s cubicle in the bullpen. “I’ll talk to him.”

“Please do.” Sally said behind her, “I’m tired of getting glared at for touching you on your shoulder occasionally.” The detective came around to stand next to Greg. “It’s not healthy behavior. For you or him.”

“I know.” Jane said. “At first I thought that he was brassed off that it took me this long to realize we knew each other in our past lives - and that he was being insufferable in retaliation. Now it’s obvious that it’s not.” She sighed. “I’ve seen my share of abuse victims. I know the psychology. I will admit that that the...brief time that Sherlock and I knew each other in our past life wasn’t what anyone could really call extremely friendly.” She caught the look on her friend’s faces. “Yes, ok. I’ll have you on speed-dial.”

“Good.” Greg said. “Now, any thoughts on the Corbson murder?”

* * *

It turned out that Jane didn’t need to call Greg and Sally, as her eventual confrontation with Sherlock occurred right in front of them. A few days after their chat, Sherlock started verbally abusing the young, green, constable who’d been thoughtful enough to bring Jane a cup of tea, a few yards where Jane had holed herself up.

It was the final straw - she’d had enough. Jane stood and slammed a hand down on the desk.

“That’s it!” She yelled. “Sherlock Smaug Orion Calamity Holmes! Eyes on me!”

Sherlock’s entire body jerked as he turned his attention to his angry flatmate, his eyes wide. “Jane?”

Jane smiled savagely, something Bilbo Baggins would never had done. “Greg and Sally have brought something to my attention, and to be honest, I’ve noticed something along the same lines that’s got all of us worried.” She said tersely.

“What exactly?”

“That you’ve been a bit...possessive of me lately. It’s a little obvious, and it’s got them a little bit concerned that you’re….well, you’re being an ass to just about everyone. Someone touches my arm, you glare at them for hours afterwards. Someone asks me out for drinks, you nearly bite their heads off. Someone offers me a ride from the station - that poor constable - you yelled at him for twenty minutes.” At Sherlock’s shrug, Jane responded crossly. “Sherlock, this behavior is not good. Really very not good. People have expressed concern that you are...attempting to control me, at the very least. Or that you might hurt me.”

Sherlock recoiled, sending some of the chocolate wrappers in his pockets to the floor. “No! I would not try to hurt you! Never!”

“Then what on Earth are you doing?” Jane yelled at him, ignoring that the whole of the station was watching. “It’s really got people concerned - it’s got me concerned! You wouldn’t even let me chase that mugger the other day!”

Sherlock uncharacteristically suddenly looked a little sheepsh. “As the most valuable part of my hoard, I cannot allow you to come to harm, and as a part of my hoard, I do not want others to take you away.” Sherlock explained in Westron, as if it was a logical explanation, to the annoyance of Greg and Sally.

Jane stared at him, and felt something very Bilbo-ish rise in her. “Excuse me?” She said tightly back in the same language.

Sherlock seemed to recognize that he’d ventured into a danger zone. “I consider you a part of my hoard?”

“Am I now?” Jane said, her tone dangerous. “And how did we come to this conclusion?”

“You are my thief?” Sherlock said sheepishly. “You were the only one who ever managed to steal from me, and you bested me in riddles.” He wiggled in discomfort. “You’re special?”

“So that means you can, what, lay claim?” Jane snapped.

Sherlock looked as if he was sweating under the collar. “No?”

“That’s right.” Jane snarled. “You can’t. I’m flattered that you think of me as part of your hoard - as twisted as that sounds - but I’m not the flipping Arkenstone. I’m a person, not a thing. You can’t keep me from interacting with other people, and if you even so much as _try_ , Greg and Sally have said that they’re going to remove me from the situation. Which means that I’ll move out of 221b. I won’t be going on any more cases, and you’ll never see me again. And I’d be very much ok with that plan. Well, not ok, but you get the idea. You may have once been Smaug, but in _this_ life, we’re going to be doing things very differently. If someone - even Thranduil - shows up, I can’t have you going all draconian on them.”

Sherlock had frozen still, and then shrank into himself. “Yes Jane.” He said quietly, and then looked at her. “But you are important.” He said hopefully.

Jane allowed herself a small, kind, smile, and responded in English. “ _That_ is oddly very sweet of you. That I will accept. As long as you don’t try any of this shite again. Now, go and do something actually useful.”

“Yes Jane.” Sherlock said, as subdued as a former dragon could be. After a beat, and as the rest of the station marveled at Jane’s tiny, terrifying, form.  “Do you think others will come?”

Jane had already sat back down, and now leaned back in her chair. “I don’t know. You’d think someone would have by now. I wasn’t...I wasn’t all that important, except for my short jaunt to Erebor, and you.” She was lying through her teeth, and was a little surprised that Sherlock couldn’t tell. She had been one of the Ring Bearers, Elf-friend of Rivendell, special guest and friend of Thranduil, honorary Dwarrow, and one of the few actually allowed to visit The Undying Lands.

Sherlock seemed to accept that, and turned back to whatever he’d been doing before chewing out the (now escaped) constable. Jane breathed out a sigh of relief, and looked to Greg and Sally, who were staring. “It’s sorted.” She said brightly. “If Sherlock tries it again, then you have full permission to take me out of 221b.”

Sally made an inarticulate noise.

Greg was the one to speak first. “What’s Erebor?” He asked curiously.

Jane gulped around her tea. “Ah. Erm-”

Sally made another noise. “Jane?”She said in a strangled tone.

“Yes?”

“ _Calamity_?”

Jane burst out laughing.

Greg stared into open air for a moment before musing seriously. “It kind of _fits_ , doesn’t it?”

From several cubes over, Dimmock looked concerned when the three of them hadn’t apparently paused to breathe through their laughter. He sighed and went back to his paperwork. If one of them fainted, it was very much not his division.

* * *

In the end, the rest of Middle Earth turned up in the form of the person Jane would have thought least likely.

One afternoon, Jane was camped out at Sally’s desk again with the selfsame detective, Sherlock leaning over the pair of them and the photos they were comparing, when down the hall - from the direction of the ‘Past Life Registration Office’ - came a voice so loud, and so familiar, that Jane twitched backwards with a gasp.

“What do you blistering belles mean, ‘my registration will be processed in four to six weeks’?! I’ve got a whole host of people who need to register as my former subjects, we can’t wait around for this pissing game!” It roared in a thick Scottish accent. “Ye can all screw yourselves! That better be put through sharpish!”

“Jane?” Sally asked, as the voice got closer.

“Sherlock, you have to go hide downstairs, right now.” Jane said urgently.

“Who-”

“Dwarrow.” Jane said, and Sherlock cursed.

“I’m staying here.”

“The sodding fuck you are.” Jane swore right back. “Not until I can explain everything. We don’t want you decapitated in the next five minutes.”

Sally’s eyes had gone wide at the mention of decapitation. The voice was getting closer.

“Sherlock, _now_.” Jane hissed, and Sherlock fled for the safety of the New Scotland Yard mortuary.

Within a few seconds of Sherlock’s coat flapping around the corner, the oddly familiar, though taller, ginger form of Dain Ironfoot, Lord of the Iron Hills and King of Erebor, stomped into the room like the embodiment of a herd of Oliphaunts.

“How, by Mahal, do you get out of this place?!” Dain thundered, and Jane could only stand there, mortified, mouth open in shock. And the desire to burst out laughing at the sight. Even after death, it seemed that Dain Ironfoot was still the same explosive personality. She was stopped short from answering when Dain caught sight of her. The former dwarrow drew himself up and beamed. “ _Well_!” He boomed. “ _There’s_ a sight I never thought I’d ever see again!”

Jane braced herself for impact as Dain tromped over, threw his arms around her, and picked her up. “Bilbo Baggins! Why as I live and breathe!”

“‘Ello your majesty.” Jane wheezed in his grip, forcing her Army training to not take over.

“Sir, I’m going to have to have you put that woman down.” Sally said commandingly from somewhere by Jane’s right ear. She couldn’t rightly tell accurately, all she could see was ginger beard.

Dain, predictably, didn’t listen. (It _was_ Dain.) Instead, he shifted Jane around somehow so that she was resting on his hip (and oh, how she hated that she was still short in this moment), his arm (massive, muscled and very uncomfortable) holding her around the waist. “Oi! Anklebiter!” He bellowed in the direction he’d come from. “I got someone you’re going to want to see!”

There came the sound of running, and another very familiar voice called back. “Cousin Dain, please stop calling me that!” Kili son of Dis’ very young, very familiar dark features came skidding into the room. “Hey! Put that lady down!”

“It's not a lady!” Dain laughed, Jane struggling in his grip to no avail. “Well, I mean, I guess it is, but it’s also - OW!”

Jane had kicked the former Dwarrow in the privates, was instantly released, and was flung to her feet in a moment. She staggered and waved at Kili. Dain was groaning somewhere by Sally’s heels.

“Lo’ Kili.” She said as sedately as she could, as she rubbed her bruised ribs. She really shouldn’t have bothered to even try. Kili’s facial expression went from stunned to intensely gleeful within a span of five seconds, and then Jane was bowled over by an over excited, brown haired blur.

“Bilbo!” Kili yelled, holding onto Jane for dear life, rocking her back and forth. “It is you!”

Jane couldn’t help laughing. The last she’d seen of this bright boy was at his funeral, and now he was here, and alive. She hugged back, giving as good as she got.

When they finally separated for a moment there were tears in Jane’s eyes, and she smoothed down his hair - which he seemed to be starting to grow long as he would have back then - even his beard looked the same. “Kili, son of Dis.” She said, voice wavering. “Hello to you too, you little troublemaker.”

“Don’t cry Master Boggins!” Kili said, wiggling forward to touch their foreheads together. He pulled back in surprise, looked down, stared for a millisecond, blushed, and then cried “ _Mistress Boggins!?_ ”

Jane snickered. “Mistress indeed! That’s what Dain was trying to tell you! Apparently, gender doesn’t always transfer over from past lives.” She said wryly, and then she teared up again. “Can’t help it.” Jane sniffed, rubbing her eyes. “Last I saw you, you were-”

Kili hugged her tightly again. “Had to fight Mistress Boggins. I couldn’t not go with Fili. Even if we both, you know.”

Jane squeezed back. “I know. Didn’t make it any easier though. Seeing you felled defending Thorin at the gates.” She paused. “Hey! It was _Baggins_ , you nit!”

Kili chuckled, and looked at her with a seemingly innocent expression. “I know!”

Jane thumped his shoulder, and he laughed.

“My name’s Jane, this time around.” Jane told him, when they got off of the floor. Dain was making some suspiciously snuffling-like noises nearby. “Jane Watson.”

Kili wrinkled his nose. “I like Bilbo better.”

“You would, you little sod.” Jane snarked, earning a grin from Kili, and then frowned. “Kili - who else came back?”

Kili beamed. “Everyone. The whole Company! And some of the population of Erebor! We’ve been looking _everywhere_ for you. Its not the same without you.”

Jane’s smile went a bit watery. “I know the feeling.” She’d spent fifty years (longer) without her friends. She knew the feeling intimately.

“Uncle Thorin is going to be _especially_ glad to see you.” Kili hinted, winking at her. That brought out a laugh from Dain, and Jane stared at the youngest heir of Erebor, flummoxed.

“Wha-”

“Jane?” Asked Sally, a little ways from them.

“Oh! Right!” Jane jumped. “Sally, may I present His Majesty King Dain Ironfoot of the Iron Hills and Erebor, and Prince Kili, son of Dis, of the Blue Hills and Erebor. Boys, this is Detective Sally Donovan of Scotland Yard, and my friend.”

Both former Dwarrow bowed to Sally. “At your service.”

Sally stared. “Uh huh.” She managed. “Pleasure.” Jane snickered again at the glazed expression on Sally’s face.

“We were here registering Erebor and its citizens as a former kingdom.” Kili explained. “Not that we actually have territory, but if anyone else from Erebor wakes up, they’ll know how to contact us.”

“Under your rule?” Jane asked Dain, guessing.

Dain chuckled. “Oh, Mahal no. Once was enough for me. Let’s just say I’ve surrendered that dubious honor to someone who didn’t get the chance, last time.”

Jane went white, and she clutched at Kili’s arm. “Thorin?” She croaked.

“Aye lad, er -lass.”

“Now we just have to let everyone you’re here.” Kili said brightly. He’d taken his phone out from somewhere and was scrolling through the apps. He snaked his arm around Jane’s shoulders, and then held up the phone. “Smile!”

Jane did on reflex, and then Kili was away and typing furiously.

“Sent!” He chirped at her, grinning.

“Kili.” Jane asked slowly. “What did you do?”

“Snapchat. To every member of the Company.” Kili rocked back and forth on his feet cheerfully.

“Prepare for an influx of Dwarrow.” Dain added helpfully.

“Oh bother.” Jane said faintly, thinking of the former dragon in the basement.

* * *

Across London, eleven members of the former Company of Thorin Oakenshield all checked their phones to be greeted by a photo of Kili and their very feminine Burglar, along with the caption: Look who we found at NSY!

Chaos reigned.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  


  
  


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	3. Company and Stolen Phones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of fires, dwarrow, and unexpected meetings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Three! This chapter contains more dwarrow. 
> 
> Thank you, as always, to laughing_phoenix for being my enabler, and my beta. 
> 
> Also - I have tumblr! Come find me at: http://teacup-ofdoom.tumblr.com/

* * *

 Frerin son of Thrain was acutely aware of just how short of a life he’d lived in Arda the first time around, courtesy of the Battle of Azanulbizar. He’d been twenty two, just finishing up his first degree at Uni, when he’d woken up the day after finals, surrounded by a forest’s worth of flash cards, with a nasty hangover and the memory of being run through by an orc.

Unfortunately, he’d also been the first of Durin’s folk to remember a past life, and had realized that soon after his roommate had, in a panic, as Frerin started to babble in an unknown, guttural language - called Dis.

Frerin had managed to keep his memories, and himself, together until graduation day - when, his first class degree in hand, Frerin had taken one look at his solemn, tightass (excluding his nephews - and wasn’t that exciting in itself? There hadn’t been nephews the first time around!), family - and decided the family legacy could stuff it.

The few years that had followed his graduation had been (and if Frerin was being honest, still were) deliberately filled with excessive amounts of booze, travel, and hedonism - not all necessarily in that order - and based on the idea that if this was the afterlife, it was absolutely a strange one, and he was doing to damn well enjoy it.

Frerin had, after three years on his own (relatively), accepted that he would be alone in his remembrance of his past life, of being a dwarrow - which he’d mourned for a bit. He would have liked to have Dis back, at the very least. His sister had been the closest to him in age and temperament. Three years of completely wild antics had also distanced him from the family, to a degree, and from their financial firm - Erebor (the irony). Thorin, however, was still stubborn as a mule and had consistently kept Frerin updated with the goings-on.

As luck would have had it, Frerin did eventually find another dwarrow. On a rare trip back to London, he’d wandered into a Waterstone’s - looking for a travel guide to Argentina - when, between the aisles, he’d heard a thump, and then loud swearing.

Only the swearing had been in Kudzhul.

And thus, did Frerin meet Bifur, formerly of the Blue Hills, and, incredulously, of _Thorin Oakenshield’s Company_ , a less than esteemed group of dwarrow (and one Hobbit - he’d had no idea what in the name of Durin a Hobbit was, at the time) that had done the impossible and _retaken Erebor from Smaug_.

Bifur had been extremely surprised to find the younger Prince of Erebor stalking about London on his own, and had been more appalled when he’d found out that Frerin was the only member of the royal family who remembered the original Erebor at all. Bifur, apparently, had only remembered Erebor and Arda after getting a serious bump to the head, exactly in the same spot as his former headwound millennia ago, and had been in hospital for three weeks, raving in ancient Kudzhul, before his brain had remembered that there wasn't an axehead stuck in it.

It been a pleasant shock for the both of them. Bifur had taken Frerin to his brother Bombur’s restaurant that night, and meeting the rest of the Company had followed soon after.

Frerin had known about Bilbo Baggins from the Company’s stories, (and they told him stories of his nephews! That was still so exciting. He had immediately decided to spoil them them rotten). However, it wasn’t until he’d been on another extended visit to the family house (really a trio of row houses that had been modified to be more connected than just the attics), when his older brother had woken up one morning, panicked, reeling from past remembrances, and screaming the name “ _Bilbo_ ”, that Frerin had become more than just a little interested in the Company’s Burglar.

The morning of Kili’s Snapchat, Frerin had come home the night before (well, again, he’d returned from a wild week in Stockholm the night before that), and drunkenly placed his own phone in the microwave. When he’d risen, he’d done what every little brother does when he’s exhausted, bored, can’t find his own phone, and has a penchant for being annoying.

He’d stolen his older brother’s mobile. (Thorin would be pissed.  Oh well, he’d live.)

Therefore, when the Snapchat came through, it went to Frerin, who had been walking down Oxford street in search of toast and a nice bracing cup of tea. (He couldn’t get one at home. Dis would have delighted in making greasy food to exacerbate his hangover, because siblings were like that.) Frerin stared down at the photo of Kili and the not unattractive blonde woman in some confusion - and replied to the snap with a picture of his own face, screwed up in bewilderment.  

The overly enthusiastic response (Frerin was going to have words with that boy on the overuse of exclamation points) was of another photo, (though seemingly candid) of the (still not unattractive) woman - who was now laughing at something Dain was telling her. The caption over the photo read: IT’S BILBO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Frerin’s eyes widened. He chose to reply in text this time.

Thorin: Not Thorin, it’s me Frerin. Thought your Burglar was male?

Kili: He was! Except Bilbo is now a she? Why are you on Uncle Thorin’s phone? Thorin needs to know. Like, now.

Thorin: (Frerin) Stole it, couldn’t find mine.

Kili: Go home and tell Thorin.

Thorin: (Frerin) And be caught in the brood of all emotionally constipated broods? Or panicked running through the streets of London? No thanks.

Kili: But he needs to come and make Bilbo our Auntie!!!

Thorin: (Frerin) Mahal, I can hear your whining from here. They weren’t even courting back then. I know that for a fact. You call the house and tell Thorin.

Kili: Fine. What are you going to do?

Thorin: (Frerin): Meet you at New Scotland Yard, what else? I want to meet your famous Bilbo.

Kili: Ok. She goes by Jane now, apparently.

Thorin: (Frerin) The very pretty Jane, I like.

Kili: NO POACHING UNCLE THORIN’S BILBO. I KNOW YOU, YOU WOULD. HANDS OFF MY AUNTIE.

Frerin laughed before hailing the nearest cab and replying.

Thorin: (Frerin) You realize that she’d still be your Auntie if she found me more charming than Thorin is? And started courting her before Thorin got the chance?

Kili: NO. DON’T YOU DARE.

Frerin grinned at the phone in his hands. This was why he loved having nephews. They were so much fun to rile up.

* * *

Greg had graciously donated conference room two to what Dain was generously calling “the reunion”. Jane was internally calling it the “incoming mass of over-excited male”, but hadn’t vocalized the thought, because Kili would have pouted, and there was some serious power in that pout. Meanwhile, she’d texted Sherlock with her own phone to tell him what was going on. Sherlock hadn’t been happy about it, but had so far agreed not to come upstairs, which was a minor blessing.

Kili, for the most part, had stayed glued to Jane’s side since they moved into the conference room, making sure that she never left his sight. Which was fine, really, as some part of her was still afraid that he would vanish as soon as he left the room.

There was no chance of Dain vanishing, however. The loud nit had stationed himself in the bullpen, and whatever he was telling the assembled police officers certainly had their rapt attention.

Kili hugged her around her shoulders again - for the twentieth time in the last fifteen minutes, it felt like - and beamed.

“Who were you texting?” Jane asked him, amused. “You looked a bit cross.”

“Nobody.” Kili said, far too quickly for Jane to believe him.

There was the sound of a tumult from somewhere beyond the walls of the conference room. Kili grinned widely at the sound. “They’re here!”

Jane gulped, looking out of the conference room window, suddenly extremely nervous, hands sweaty. She pushed herself off of the table she’d been leaning against and self-consciously began patting herself down, straightening her shirt, passing a hand over her hair.

“You look fine.” Kili said gently, nudging her with his shoulder. “Honestly.”

Jane took in a shuddering breath, but didn’t have time to respond as the first members of the Company came into view.

Dwalin was immediately recognizable. He was bulkier that had been - the tattoos covered much more surface area, interesting - and his scowl was even bigger. Oddly, it made Jane smile to see that scowl in place. Fili was just as unmistakable, blonde hair as bright as anything, the same bounce in his step as ever. She wasn’t sure who the tall, thin man was with them, but Nori looked almost exactly the same - he’d even somehow managed to get a leather coat that looked just like the one he’d had all that time ago.

Jane felt tears gather in her eyes again. In her mind’s eye, these members of the Company were still in the same armor they wore before the Battle of Five Armies - just as dirty, and tired, and yet still hopeful for the future.

Then Dain was pointing them towards the conference room, and there wasn’t a moment to think. The four men seemed to break into the conference room with a roar of noise, and then come to a screeching halt in a line, stareing at Jane.

Jane stared straight back, her breath in caught in her throat. A stray thought ran through her mind, something she’d said when she’d still been Bilbo Baggins, and she gathered her courage and grinned mischievously.

“Well, this won’t do at all.” Jane said, the expressions on the assembled group switching from shock to confusion. “It’s only just noon. I did say tea was at four, remember?”

Dwalin was the first to react; he practically roared, rushed forward, bodily scooped Jane up, and attempted a traditional dwarven greeting of head butting. Attempted only because Jane managed to put her hand between their foreheads before it could happen. It wasn’t the first time she’d had to do it, though it had been centuries since the last attempt. It didn’t phase Dwalin. He just roared in laughter, bumped his head against her hand, and squeezed her tightly. “You little rotter!” Dwalin yelled. “Look at you!” He shook her, and this time Jane was laughing too. “Look at you!” He was beaming widely. She didn’t think she’s seen him grin so widely, ever.

Jane wrapped her arms around Dwalin, as much as she could, and hugged as good as she got. “Well met, you ridiculous, mountain-sized, brute.” She mumbled into her hug, grinning all the while, and was rewarded by a barrel chested-laugh that she could feel rumble through his chest.

Just as suddenly, she was pulled from Dwalin’s arms by Fili, and cuddled tightly, in a mirror of what Kili had done, then rocked back and forth in delight. Fili was crooning something in her ear that she couldn’t understand, but most of her didn’t care, as he sounded happy. Jane curled herself around the eldest Durin heir and failed, once again, to not sniffle. She managed to pull back slightly and take a good look at him, touching his hair, and stroked a finger down the bridge of his nose with a sniffle. “Fili, you-” she began, but was cut off.

“No crying!” Kili sing-songed loudly from nearby, “you promised!.”

Fili chuckled and touched his forehead to hers in a gesture that was much gentler than the one Dwalin had attempted. “Ignore Kili.” He said, and Jane was a little pleased to note that there were tears in his eyes (so at least she wasn’t the only one). “Hello Bilbo. It’s wonderful to see you.”

Another set of arms wrapped around her middle. “Not waiting, I’m not going to get a hug at this rate.” Nori’s muffled voice said into Jane’s right ear, making her laugh.

“Don’t steal my house keys.” She said, while Fili dropped his forehead to her hers, fighting amusement.

“Your phone is more interesting anyway.” Nori said. True to form, when both of them released her, Nori was already flipping through her contact list. Jane ignored that, though not without a slight panic that he would also go through her voice recordings and find one of Sherlock's more amusing rants. She shrugged off the panic and punched Nori on the shoulder.

The former thief grinned at her, and flicked her cheek in retaliation. “Missed you, master Burglar.” The former thief said teasingly, but fondly, and poked her ribcage playfully. “Now go greet the rest.” He indicated the man standing to one side.

The fourth member of the little group was watching the reunion with a shy smile, but made no move forward, as if he was worried over Jane’s reaction to him. He was so achingly familiar, and yet he wasn’t. Jane was staring at him, trying to place this member of the Company, realized that his t-shirt read “I eat Dandelions”, and gasped.

Bifur smiled widely. He was thinner than he’d been, his beard thinned to a stubble, his head bald, and most importantly, there was no apparent headwound. “Hello Bilbo.” Bifur said apprehensively, scuffing the floor with his Chucks.

Jane made a noise that was half a moan and half gleeful wail, threw herself practically across the room, and wrapped her arms around one of the first members of the Company to accept her into their ranks. It was like holding a tall, gentle, stick, a little different than it had been, once. Bifur had wrapped his own arms gently around her (she only came up to just under his chest, how had that happened?) - and stuck his nose in her hair. “Hey, you should listen to Kili, no crying.” He said, a little amused. She’d never heard his voice but for the angry scratch of Ancient Kudzhul. It was a light, gentle voice, a very nice one.

Jane shook her head into his t-shirt. “You’re ok.” She mumbled. “You’re -”

“No axe.” Bifur joked. “We can actually talk now, instead of me pointing at things and doing charades.” Jane squeezed him tightly around the middle briefly to indicate that the self-deprecation was not appreciated, but didn’t let go. “I don’t think Bombur’s actually forgiven me for being a vegetarian in both lives, though.” Bifur finished.

Jane pulled back to grin up at Bifur wetly. “So you really _do_ eat dandelions?”

Bifur smiled back, and he’d teared up too. “What can I say? They’re delicious!” Jane giggled, and then both of them were in the middle of a dwarrow cuddle pile.

For Jane, it oddly felt like coming home again.

When all of the hugging had calmed down a bit (Jane had stopped sniffling somewhat), Jane stepped back and took stock of her little group of former dwarrow as they took stock of her. It was so good to see them, happy, healthy and _whole_.

Kili was showing Fili something on his phone that had Fili rolling his eyes to the ceiling, but Kili caught her looking and said. “Balin’s in a meeting I think, that’s why he couldn't come, but he sent a hello.” He explained. Jane was certain that wasn’t the messages that Fili had been looking at.

“Bofur teaches primary school.” Bifur explained his brother’s absence from the proceedings with a grin. “He can’t let the kiddies out of his sight, so he can’t come yet. Otherwise we’d have an impromptu school trip to the Yard for thirty assorted munchkins.”

Jane grinned at the mental image. Greg would either love that, or go spare. Teaching primary school, at least, was perfect for Bofur, the former toymaker. And it seemed that Balin would never escape meetings in any life. She sobered a bit when she remembered Frodo - dear Frodo - telling her of Balin’s death in Moria, and of Oin’s, and Ori’s.

“Bombur’s got a restaurant, and it’s about lunch rush now, so he’s probably swamped and can’t respond to his messages.” Bifur continued.

“Ori works with Balin.” Dwalin said gruffly. “Some things never change. So he’s in the same meeting, likely.”

“Where do they work?” Jane asked, curiously, her heart lightened slightly by the thought that the two were well.

“Erebor.” Nori replied, and smirked at Jane’s startled expression. “It’s a banking firm. Real rich.” He grinned when Jane rolled her eyes. “Naturally, I’m head of security.” Nori finished smugly. This time, there was a roar of laughter at Jane’s disbelieving expression.

“Of course you’re head of security.” Jane moaned. “The world has turned inside out, and you’re Head of Security.”

“Says _Mistress_ Bilbo Baggins.” Nori retorted. “Guess the lads shouldn’t have called you Auntie so often.” He winked.

Jane went red as Fili and Kili spluttered protests of innocence.

“Not like Thorin’ll mind.” Dwalin said, with an amused, but thorough, glance up and down Jane’s torso. “His Hobbit’s still _very_ pretty.”

Jane gaped. “What on Earth are you implying?” She fumed, and curse it, her cheeks felt even warmer. The assembled were trying to stifle laughter. “Thorin never - what are you talking about?” Jane demanded. As Bilbo, he’d tried to keep his slight (alright, large and fairly ridiculous) burgeoning feelings for the dwarrow king tight under wraps during the quest for Erebor. As far as Bilbo had known, no one knew about it. Thorin definitely hadn’t had any idea, and had clearly never had any notion of reciprocation (which is _why_ Bilbo had kept it under wraps). Expect that Dwalin (and Kili, come to think of it) were implying that - no, it was too ridiculous, and they were just riling her up. They had to be.

An interrogation of the Company was to be delayed, because the door of the conference room had opened again to admit another man - who, judging by the beads and braided hair, had to be a re-awakened dwarrow - but Jane wasn’t sure who he was. The stranger stood in the doorway, hands on hips, and gazed about at the assembled group and beamed. “Since my dearest,  _darling_ nephews are here and are horrified that I showed up, I must be in the right place.” He winked at Jane and sauntered into the room. “And you must be the famous Bilbo Baggins.”

Jane blinked, assessed the new addition for threats and asked. “And you would be?”

The man grinned, and his smile was somewhat reminiscent of Kili’s. He bowed low. “Frerin Durinson, at your service.” Jane stared. She’d heard of Frerin, of course. Thorin’s younger brother, and the boy’s uncle.

“He’s a pain in the arse.” Dwalin rumbled, breaking Jane out of her reverie and causing Frerin to shoot the former guard a dirty look.

“Please, you love me.” Frerin responded with a grin, and then turned back to Jane. “I have heard a great deal about you, Mistress Baggins. My nephews can’t stop talking about you.”

Jane felt her mouth twitch. “Oh really?” She raised an eyebrow in the boys’ direction. They beamed sheepishly.

“When’s Thorin coming?” Dwalin asked. “He should have got the snapchat message, same as us.”

Frerin winced and held up a mobile. “Erm, maybe not?” At Jane’s confused look, Frerin apologetically explained. “When I can’t find my phone, I steal Thorin's.”

Jane bit her lip, amused. “That likely doesn’t go over well.” She said lightly, a little intrigued. She could laugh about stealing from Thorin millennia after her own incident, but someone else doing so and apparently disregarding the consequences was funny. Especially when it was Thorin’s little brother. There were perks to watching another older sibling get messed with. (Frerin and her sister Harriet were hereby never allowed to meet.)

Frerin grinned. “Nope. Never.” He gave her a speculative look. “Can I put my contact info into your phone? You’ve got to have some dirt on my family, and I want stories.”

“Oh no. They’re bonding.” Fili said in alarm. “Nori, they’re bonding. Make it stop.”

Nori was watching the bonding with a growing, mischievous smile. “No, no. I like where this is going.”

Dwalin, keeping his mind on the real problem, threw up his hands. “So Thorin doesn’t even know that we’ve found Bilbo?!”

“I contacted home.” Kili spoke up. “He should know by now.”

* * *

_Sometime Earlier:_

Thorin had been looking for his phone for at least half an hour. He’d turned the common area over - twice - and his bedroom was immaculate, so it wasn’t there. The former king was ready to tear his (not yet graying, there was some small mercy) hair out in frustration.

Dis peeked into the living room, raised an eyebrow at the destruction, and stepped towards her brother amidst the debris. “Found Frerin’s phone in the microwave.” She held up a much loved, much battered phone.

Thorin groaned. “So he’s got mine. Wonderful.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Every damn time.”

Dis’ mouth curled. “The perils of getting your little brother back from the dead.”

Thorin looked to the floor and smiled. “I’ll take Frerin living and stealing my things, over my phone, any day.”

“I know. Me too.” Dis bit her lip, and then smiled coyly. “Although, you might be interested in the messages Frerin has been getting from Kili, now that he apparently knows that Frerin has your phone and can’t reach you through it.”

Thorin, intrigued, reached out for his brother’s phone and scrolled through the available messages.

Kili: UNCLE THORIN IF YOU CAN HEAR THIS PHONE BEEP PICK IT UP IT UP.

Kili: BEEP BEEP BEEP CALLING UNCLE  
  
Kili: DAMIT FRERIN, WHERE DID YOU PUT YOUR PHONE THAT UNCLE CAN’T HEAR IT?

Kili: UNCLE I HAVE TO TELL YOU IMPORTANT THINGS

Kili: WELL, REALLY JUST ONE IMPORTANT THING

There was a picture attached to the last one.

Kili: WE FOUND BILBO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The picture was of his - the Company’s Burglar. She - _she_ \- had her arms wrapped around Nori’s shoulders, blonde hair cascading down one side of her neck, greenish-brown eyes shining into his very being through the photo.

There was humor in that smile, and a hardness that the old Bilbo had never had, but there was still something sweet in her gaze, and Thorin held onto that. The image in front of him now chased away every terrible scenario he’d thought of since he’d woken up one morning with Bilbo’s name on his lips. That Bilbo didn’t exist in this time, that the Hobbit had died once and wouldn’t return to them. He’d been certain that Bilbo wasn’t alive this time. He’d not been able to find a sign of him, and now he knew why.

It was still Bilbo, and he - _she_ \- clearly remembered their previous lives. If Bilbo had forgiven him once, then perhaps he - she - would again? Perhaps they could start again, have a better start better this time around.

Thorin suddenly felt as if his legs were incapable of holding him up. Dis must have realized this, because she guided him to the couch, sitting next to him with a worried look on her face. Thorin was cradling the phone in both hands, no words managing to clear his throat, staring at the image of the Burglar.

“Where?” He finally managed horsely.

“New Scotland Yard.” Dis said, and snorted at Thorin’s horrified look. “I’m not sure if she works there or not, but Kili went with Dain to register Erebor as a kingdom, and Kili said she was in the area where the police work on cases, apparently helping out in some capacity.”

Thorin shakily got to his unsteady feet, the need to run like a madman through the streets of London filling him. “I need to go.” He said, looking about for his keys. “I need -” He looked down at the picture on the phone again.

“I know.” Dis said, holding up his car keys. “I’ll drive.” At Thorin’s questioning gaze, she continued. “I’m being a good sister, and scoping out my future sister in law at the same time.”

Thorin’s eyebrows raised. Dis grinned. “Please, brother of mine, my boys have been referring to Bilbo Baggins as ‘Auntie’ for years, and that was when he was _male_.”

Thorin’s ears went slightly red, and he ran a hand over his short beard in an attempt to hide his embarrassment, though it failed and Dis whooped with laughter.

“Bilbo and I have a few things to speak of before anything of that nature.” Thorin said, not quite as frostily as he had hoped.

Dis just laughed harder. Thorin grabbed his sister and maneuvered her towards the front door.

He got absolutely no respect these days. Absolutely none.

* * *

_In the basement of New Scotland Yard_

Sherlock: Jane, I want to come upstairs now.

Sherlock: Little thief, do not test me.

Sherlock: I will burn every jumper you own if you don’t reply to this immediately.

Sherlock: I’m coming upstairs in half an hour. Dwarrow or no dwarrow. You have been warned!

Sherlock: JANE?!

Sherlock: It’s Molly. Jane, seriously, I am going to kick this idiot - YES I MEAN YOU SHERLOCK HOLMES - out of the NSY morgue in a minute before we’re both kicked out. Sherlock set fire to one of the trash bins, and -dammit, there goes one of the lab chairs. How do you live with him?!

Sherlock: Fire only improves the decor. People are stupid.

Sherlock: They made me leave. I’m coming upstairs.

  
**End of Chapter 3**

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  


 

 


	4. New Meetings and Familiar Faces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin and Jane/Bilbo meet again. Bilbo loses control of her Tookishness again. And Smauglock likes to be the most dramatic person in the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn’t really decide how to handle the reunion between Jane/Bilbo and Thorin. If I’d been in their heads for this - which I seriously considered - I feared that what I would eventually come up with was the world’s most prolific supply of angst and UST, because those two can do it like champions, and together they would make a perfect storm. And I wanted this fic to be funny, dangit! This is what resulted. So. If I decide to tackle their headspaces later, it’ll be in a one-shot. Which I had also not decided to do for this fic. 
> 
> Look at all the things it makes me write!
> 
> Also, Thorin is an emotionally stunted teenager when he’s nervous. And he’d like nothing more than to take his Burglar away to somewhere warm, sunny, and stress-free, and also where there is a potential for cuddling. 
> 
> That is all.
> 
> -teacup

* * *

 

“I can’t do this.” Thorin said, sitting in the car in the visitor’s parking lot of New Scotland Yard.

Dis rolled her eyes. “Why?”

Thorin breathed out deeply. “She’s going to hate me.”

Dis cocked an eyebrow. Her ridiculous brother was being ridiculous. “I doubt it, unless you repeat your ‘looks more like a grocer’ performance, and subsequent slanders.”

Thorin shot his sister an annoyed look. He was _not_ going to make the same mistake last time, and so ignored Dis’ comment. “She could already be married.”

“No ring on her finger in the photos.” Dis retorted. She would know, she’d looked to make sure.

Thorin seemed to sag in relief, and then tensed up again. “She could be dating-”

“Facebook profile says single.” Dis sing-songed*.

Thorin slumped and rested his head on the dashboard of the car. “I don’t know if I should thank you for that, or be horrified that you managed to find her profile so fast.”

Dis chortled - she was enjoying this - and poked her older brother’s shoulder. “Out of the car, oh broody one. Frerin’s probably charming Bilbo as we speak.” Thorin shot out of the car so fast that Dis couldn’t get out of the car herself, because she was laughing at the sight he made.

Thorin stood, hands on hips, glaring at her through the windshield, until Dis pulled herself together. “Come on!” Thorin bellowed at her.

“I was kidding.” Dis commented, still snickering as they walked in the general direction of the front entrance to New Scotland Yard. “Frerin wouldn’t do that, he knows how much the Burglar means to you.” She smiled. “He’s likely trying to get embarrassing stories out of her.”

Thorin looked a mollified, but also a little green. “That is the problem.” He said, and at Dis’ questioning look, replied. “He also knows horrifying stories of me from both childhoods.”

Dis had to bite her lip before she snickered again. “You think he’d tell them to a complete stranger?”

“He’s been hearing about Bilbo for _years_ , Dis! She’s not a stranger in the least.” Thorin hissed, quickening his pace.  “And of course he’d tell Bilbo! Bilbo _likes_ stories. Can you imagine how many she’ll be telling him of _me_?”

Dis covered her mouth and giggled as Thorin began quietly ranting, not venturing to say that Bilbo probably had _plenty_ to tell Frerin. Dis had some to tell Bilbo, of course. It was only fair.

Thorin’s rant had continued. “Bilbo and Frerin are probably already on their way to being fast friends. Do you know how _inexplicably friendly_ that Hobbit is? Bilbo would like _Smaug_ if the dragon showed up and was the least bit amenable**. Don’t even get me _started_ on the elves!”

They had to stop when Dis, had to lean against one of the parked cars and regain control, she was laughing so hard at the picture Thorin made, arms flailing, his pace quickening with every word. Thorin was not amused. The passing bobbies however, were.

When they finally made it into New Scotland Yard, they were helpfully directed to the ‘Past Life Registration Office’ when they asked at the front desk. (They did hear someone talking about the “loud ginger giant” who’d been through earlier, which made Thorin grin.) From the Past Life Registration Office they were, somewhat worryingly, directed to the Major Crimes Division bullpen, where they were told they would be most likely to find Jane Watson.

It was only when walking into that cavernous space that Dis watched Thorin relax, losing the tension that had squared his shoulders from the moment that he’d prepared to face Bilbo Baggins again for real. On the other side of the bullpen was a conference room with wide windows, and Dis could see familiar profiles milling about within.

Within the conference room, Thorin could see Bilbo, a petite, laughing, beacon of joy amidst it all.

Thorin’s world - which had felt off balance since seeing Kili’s message on Frerin’s phone - seemed to right itself and settle at the sight of her. He smiled, watching his Burglar flit back and forth, but didn’t move forward himself.

“Breathe.” Dis whispered to him, with a nudge. “You have to go in there sometime. It will all be fine. You’ll see.”

Thorin didn’t want to. He could stay out here, watching his Company and their Burglar all the rest of this lifetime. They looked so happy - as it was meant to be. As it should have been had things gone _right_ the first time around. A twinge of guilt - one of a number that had been present since he’d remembered who he was - twisted in his stomach. Was it wrong of him to want to be part of that happiness as well? He looked to Dis momentarily, as if asking for permission, and Dis rolled her eyes, pushed her forehead to his for a brief moment of comfort, and then shoved him gently towards the glass walled room, and the people that he cared for.

Thorin tried to resist, but his traitorous limbs had other ideas, and carried him towards the conference room faster than he would have wished. Part of his mind was screaming that he would turn back, that he’d bollocksed up his friendship (and maybe, if he’d lived, something more) with Bilbo the first time, he’d likely do it a second time. Screwing it up a second time would crush his soul.

But another part of his mind, the part that was clearly winning, was reminding Thorin that he wouldn’t know what would happen until he tried.

* * *

Nori noticed Thorin’s approach first. It left him a with about thirty seconds to get into a good position to watch the show unfold, but he managed it, and - though he would deny it to Thorin later - also managed to surreptitiously take out his cell phone and start recording video. This was something they’d want to remember, later, and for the other members of the Company to watch, as they hadn’t been able to be here.

Jane, as Nori had been observing, was very different in some ways from the Bilbo he remembered.

Bilbo, all those ages ago, had had a more reserved personality than his reincarnated version - possibly because of the environment he’d grown up in, the expectations that folk of the Shire seemed to have thrust on him, and the way that the Company had treated him. The Company hadn’t accepted Bilbo as one of their own at first, they hadn’t been all that kind to him at the end of their adventure either. Somehow though, in between all that they’d managed to become friends, and had cherished their funny little Burglar.

Nori had visited Bag End more than once over the years, after the Quest, to check on his friend and steal scones. And he had, perhaps on occasion, brought a small fauntling sweets, after the boy had been adopted by his ‘Uncle Bilbo’. (And if hearing someone call Bilbo ‘uncle’ had caused Nori emotional pain - thinking of two young dwarrow who would never jokingly call Bilbo ‘auntie’ again - had caused the former thief emotional pain, only Bilbo had suspected - and done his best to comfort him with teacakes, and quiet evenings sharing a pipe on the bench outside of Bag End.)

The Ring, however, had thrown Nori for a horrified loop, when he’d learned what it was, of the evil that Bilbo had carried with him through the Quest and beyond. He’d never had an inkling of it’s existence, and had been devastated to hear that the bright, blue-eyed child who had always greeted him at the door to Bag End with excitement, was the volunteer who had carried the Ring to it’s destruction. (He’d cursed himself for not noticing Bilbo’s addiction to the Ring sooner, for not giving in to his own concern when Bilbo had aged slower than his kin. Nori had been so relieved that Bilbo was still alive sometimes, when he visited, so happy to have more time with his friend, that it hadn’t mattered how odd the situation was. It was only much later, after the Ring had been destroyed, that Nori wondered how much the Ring had messed with his own mind as well.)

Jane laughed and smiled more freely than Bilbo had - not by much, mind you - but her smiles were bigger, and she was more physically affectionate - pulling them into hugs, and leaning comfortably against the nearest available dwarrow, with occasional pokes in ribcages. 

This new incarnation of Bilbo also had slight quirks of body language that made him think... Nori would eat his leather coat if Jane didn’t have some sort of military background she hadn’t yet disclosed to the Company. She moved liked some of his ex-military security staff did, and kept a wary eye out for threats, even in a space where she was supposed to be safe. _This_ little revelation would throw the Company for a loop.

Deep down, Nori suspected, each member of the Company had hoped that they’d find their Burglar living in much the same situation in which they’d left him last - safe, living peacefully in some quiet village somewhere until they could bring him home. Admittedly, Nori wasn’t happy with the revelation either, but he wasn’t about to blow the lid off of the jar prematurely.

Thorin though - Thorin would have an apoplexy, and then immediately try to do everything in his power to keep Jane/Bilbo safe, down to wrapping the Burglar in bubble wrap before carrying her off to the safest place he could find. If Jane was half as stubborn as Bilbo had been, the resulting reaction would be magical to watch.

Nori was looking forward to it.

In his other hand - the one not discreetly holding his own, recording, phone - Nori was still flipping through Jane’s purloined phone.

You could learn quite a bit about someone from what they had in their phone. For example, Nori now knew that Jane had few people that she kept in contact with, and that she’d recently been out with several women named “Molly”, “Sally” and “Doctor Keer”, who were presumably friends of hers. Jane also had something against a woman named Irene, who was labeled in Jane’s phone as ‘Irene - not actually dead***’, and Jane met with a therapist every second Tuesday of the month. In addition, she had a number of photos of a curly haired man, and an email address to which a blog - Jane’s, upon further inspection and was therefore something to look at later - was linked.

Jane’s installed apps were just as interesting. She had numerous medical apps, a panic button, Whatsapp, Citymapper, Uber, a recipe app, and a guide to police codes. Not a list synonymous with someone who lead a quiet life.

Jane was also proving to be extremely well organized (possibly residual from military life?). Her calendar was meticulously filled with blocks labeled “clinic”, and “drinks with Mike + wife” or “Sholto”, and “get groceries because Sherlock won’t bother”, as well as, oddly “tea with Mycroft, curb”. Normal, everyday things, but extremely telling, or would be if Nori actually had enough time to go through it all.

Fortunately, or unfortunately for Nori’s fact-finding, Thorin Oakenshield had just - finally - stepped into the room.

Thorin had always had a commanding presence in Middle Earth (probably due to his nearly overpowering ability to glower), and the same was true in this, more modern era (it came in rather handy during board meetings). Only seconds after Thorin had opened the door of the conference room, he was spotted by Dwalin, who had never _quite_ lost the urge to come to attention when his King walked into a room, even if Dwalin had never been a soldier this time around (that was not discounting that, even before he’d woken up, Dwalin had become a black belt in two separate disciplines, and was a regional boxing champion).

At Dwalin’s reaction, the chatter in the room died down to an expectant silence upon the Company realizing whom had just entered. Jane had, naturally, been in the center of the group of reborn dwarrow, chatting, and only looked up and away from Bifur and Fili to see what the interruption was, and couldn't seem to look away again. 

In that moment, Jane and Thorin only had eyes for each other.

Jane moved so that she was fully facing Thorin, her body language, which had been fluid when faced with the Company, had both ramped up in stiffness, and then relaxed again, as if by sheer will. She had also gone a little pale, but not enough to make Nori think that she was about to faint (though, it would have been funny, for old time's’ sake) , and she swallowed, once, twice, and then made an aborted move to wipe her likely suddenly sweaty palms on her pants.

Thorin wasn’t faring much better. The former (future) king of the dwarrow of Erebor had apparently lost all ability to breathe, and he took one, wavering, step into the room, but he was also slightly pale. Still, Thorin had a light dancing in his eyes that made Nori smirk.

How nobody had realized the blossoming romance, or whatever it was, between these two on the Quest (Nori put down to stress over the whole ‘dragon’ thing), Nori didn’t understand. They all must have been sodding _blind_.

Goodness knows what might have happened had Thorin lived long enough to be crowned properly. There might have been a Hobbit consort beside him, for a start. 

Neither of the ridiculous pair made any further move towards each other, each taking the sight of the other in for so long, that Nori sincerely hoped someone (Kili) would just Jane shove forward. If the universe was fair to them this time around, Thorin would catch Jane, they’d confess their love instantly, and all would be perfect. (Nori would deny that he was a closet romantic - but he’d be lying.)

Thorin finally took another step forward, and then Jane took one forward as well, and the whole of the assembled Company were holding their breaths in anticipation.

The pair of them were only a few feet from each other. There were little sparkly flecks in at the corners of Thorin’s eyes that suggested unshed tears, and Jane looked near to bursting into tears herself, but was forcing them back.

Jane opened her mouth to speak. Nori’s bet was that it would be an undying declaration of affection, or something - though, knowing Bilbo, it would be a simple, sedate, ‘hello’.

Instead, what came out, Jane later would explain, was her Tookishness, exacerbated by the Quest for Erebor and her new life to date, coming to bear once again.

“What in Eru’s name were you thinking, Thorin, trying to use thirteen dwarrow to take on a damn army?!”

The occupants of Conference Room Two froze in shock, some gaping at their Burglar. The Burglar reborn in question went beet red in embarrassment, and clapped a hand over her mouth in horror. “Oh God.” She said into her palm, loud enough for everyone to hear. “I did not mean to say that. I did _not_ mean to say that!”

There was an aborted sound behind Thorin, and Nori spotted Princess Dis staring at Jane as if Christmas had come early. Someone behind Jane started sniggering.

Thorin was looking at Jane in both shock and, if Nori was reading Thorin right, a little bit of sheer delight.

True to Bilbo Baggins form, Jane hadn’t stopped speaking, and had begun rambling to herself. “By all the Valar, fifty odd years of thinking of things I’d rather have said, and _this is what comes out_?! What is _wrong_ with me lately? First Sherlock, and now -” She stopped and stared at Thorin, who’d thrown back his head and started laughing.

Jane had moved her hand away from her face and was staring at Thorin now, biting her lip to keep from probably laughing herself, though there were tears on her cheeks now. “Erm, Thorin?”

Thorin’s response was, with a grand smile on his face and maybe a few joyful tears running down his beard, to close the distance between himself and Jane and draw her close, using one hand - which, either by design or intent, found it’s way into the burglar’s blonde locks - to tenderly press their foreheads together. Jane’s hands came up to rest gently on Thorin’s arms.

“Hello Burglar.” Thorin said, and the reverence in his tone, at least to Nori, conveyed more than just that emotion, it was jumbled with relief, greeting, wonder, and the hope that the whole Company had carried for Bilbo. But mostly, Nori, and the whole Company knew, it was a tone that expressed just how much Thorin had missed their - his - Burglar.

Jane seemed to understand and echo the sentiment. Jane had a wild grin of her own, even though she was crying (again). “Hello Your Majesty.” She replied, in a happy, somewhat wet, tone, and hiccuped.

“Oh, by Mahal!” Kili moaned loudly. “I can’t take it!” He was thankfully cut off from saying whatever he was going to say by Fili - who stopped him by clapping a hand over his brother’s mouth. Bifur looked as if he was about to start squealing.

Thorin momentarily raised an eyebrow at his nephew, who looked away hurriedly, and then turned his gaze back to Jane, looking her over for no other reason than to marvel at her up close, which the two of them did, for a moment that was decades long, and yet actually all too short.

Jane however, seemed to unconsciously - or perhaps consciously - realize that they’d been holding onto one another for maybe a little bit too long, and released Thorin, stepping back a little from him. Thorin immediately looked a little lost, and dropped his arms to his sides, but he clearly wanted to step forward and hold the Burglar again.

Nori wanted to sigh. The Hobbit was still ridiculously proper about things, even when he - she - wasn’t a Hobbit any longer (or was it, once a Hobbit, always a Hobbit, like it was for the Company and being dwarrow?). Pushing Thorin away had likely been an unconscious action, at least Nori thought so. Moreover, and more unfortunately for it, Bilbo and Thorin had never once been able to verbalize their probable feelings for one another (aside, perhaps, from when Bilbo had ranted at Smaug, and Thorin was able to hear) in person in their original lives. Therefore, aside from everything else, Bilbo likely didn’t think that Thorin held and feelings for him - her? - at all. And so she (he?) was unlikely to initiate anything, though Thorin was clearly ready too. Mahal, this was confusing.

Though their interaction gave him hope, if nothing else. They still had a strong - very strong - connection to one another.

Before the situation could become any more awkward, Dis thankfully stepped forward as Jane was swiping away the tears on her cheeks. She elbowed her (somewhat sorrowful looking brother) out of the way and, with a bright smile held out her hand. “Bilbo Baggins, I presume?”

Jane smiled on reflex and shook Dis’ hand. “Yes!” She frowned, and then joked. “Well, yes and no, really. My name is Jane Watson this time around, but I did used to be Bilbo Baggins, a lifetime ago.” She cocked her head to one side. “Sorry, I’ve no idea who you are, but you look ridiculously familiar.”

Dis chuckled, but nodded in understanding. “I am Dis, daughter of Thrain, granddaughter of Thror, at your service.” She gave a slight curtsy, and a wink at Jane’s gasp.

“It’s an honor to finally meet you.” Jane replied with a more genuine smile on her lips. “I’d heard so much of you from the terrible two during the quest-”

“Hey!” Came a pair of indignant voices behind Jane.

“That I regretted never meeting you the first time.” Jane finished.

Dis was chuckling. “Likewise, Mistress Burglar. Though, in a way, I feel as if Frerin and I already know you.” At Jane’s questioning glance, Dis added, “I’ve heard quite a bit about you as well, from just about the whole Company, and from my boys especially. They painted you quite larger than life.” She teased.

“Oh no.” Fili stage whispered to Kili. “More bonding, but this time we’re actually doomed.”

“They _like_ each other.” Kili whispered back. “Maybe this won’t be so bad?”

Jane bit her lip and fidgeted, looking at the ceiling in an effort not to laugh. Dis had clapped a hand over her mouth and was doing the same. Frerin had no reservations, and threw his arms around his nephews and was cooing to them, to their horror.

“I probably shouldn’t ask, I know it’s a bit private, but how long has it been for you, since you had your past life event?” Dis questioned, as this went on.

“It hasn’t been all that long at all since I remembered actually, less than a few weeks.” Jane said with a small smile, and there was a hint of distress in her tone. “It’s been an interesting adjustment.”

A few weeks? Nori was surprised. She was taking it much better than even Dori had, or at least was better at hiding any trauma - and Nori knew for a fact that there was quite a bit of that. The Ring had quite a bit to answer for. Or maybe there was something in this life that had caused trauma as well? Nori frowned, and making sure that his phone was still recording, started rummaging through Jane’s again.

Jane’s face had crumpled in the split second that Nori had looked away. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t save them.” She said softly, indicating Fili and Kili. “I’m so sorry, I _tried_ -”

Thorin made an attempt to step around his sister in what Nori assumed was to be an attempt to sooth Bilbo. Dis derailed the attempt by stepping not too gently on her brother’s foot with the back, business, end of her high heel. Thorin’s face went scarlet, then white with pain, and then he jumped away cursing when Dis released him. Jane, bless her, was pretending not to notice.

Not allowing Jane to say anything else, Dis pulled the other woman into a hug. “You did all you could, Bilbo Baggins, don’t let your mind tell you any differently. You could not have averted it. I am -and was then- very glad that my sons had such a good friend in you. Even if you had to put up with my git of a brother.”

Jane chuckled, sniffled, and when she pulled away from Dis’ hug, she was red with embarrassment and slightly teary. “I’m still sorry. And Kili’s been trying to stop me from crying all afternoon.”

“As he should.” Dis said brightly, giving Kili a nod of approval. “And from all accounts, you were brilliant. Though male. I will not hold that against you, as you’ve clearly come over to the better side.”

That made Jane laugh, even with Thorin cursing a blue streak behind his sister and attempting to surreptitiously assess the damage to his injured foot.

“Excuse me for a moment.” Jane said, voice still slightly wet from the crying, but she was more cheerful. She walked over to the conference table, pulled out two chairs, and half dragged, half-carried them towards Thorin. When she had them facing one another, she pointed at one, and indicated to a flabberghasted Thorin. “Sit, and take that shoe off.”

Thorin plopped his behind into the chair almost at once, and was unlacing his shoe without complaint until he realized what he was doing and straightened up to look at Jane quizzically, along with the rest of the partially assembled company.

Jane rolled her eyes. “I’m a doctor Thorin, and while your foot is likely not damaged, I know the damage a high heel can cause. Take off your shoe.”

Thorin did not take off his shoe. Instead, he raised his eyebrows at Jane. “ _You’re_ a doctor?”

“That is what my medical license tells me."

Thorin looked dubious, which made Jane glare pointedly. Thorin took off his shoe. 

(Nori was amused to see that during the examination, Thorin’s ears had turned bright red, and the two had been having some sort of close whispered conversation that had Thorin actually _smiling_.)

Finally, Jane patted the top of Thorin’s foot. “Luckily,” she said with a wink. “I don’t think it’s a mortal wound.” Jane’s joking had the unintentional reaction of releasing some of Nori’s nervous tension at seeing Bilbo again - only to replace it with a smidgen of worried tension.

If Bilbo could joke about mortal wounds considering the person she was facing - the very man whom he'd seen die of a mortal wound  - what on this Earth was Jane’s life like now? They didn’t even know what kind of a doctor she was, or what exactly she did at New Scotland Yard other than “helping out with cases”. Nori’s mind also, once again, helpfully, reminded him of Jane’s military bearing and he wanted to curse.

“You should be fine, barring some slight tenderness.” Jane was saying, letting Thorin replace his shoe and sock. “But I’d stay away from women with high heels for a little bit.”

Thorin leaned forward towards Jane, eyes twinkling, and a slightly cheeky smile on his lips. “Well then,” he said in a low, amused tone that did nothing to disguise Thorin’s intent. “I suppose I had better stick with you.”

Jane blushed, and Nori knew that he was not the only member of the Company internally grinning like mad. Dwalin, somewhere off to the side - Nori wasn’t going to do something as stupid to look away from the scene in front of him - muttered “point to Thorin”.

It had become something of an amusement on the Quest for Erebor - the more flustered Bilbo became, the Company had found, the less the Hobbit managed get a word out between flushes and stammering. (Unless, of course, it was a fluster of outrage, in which case there was a lot more spluttering and ranting.) The same seemed to be true of the modern incarnation of Bilbo Baggins.

“Ah, yes...erm, well” Jane said, obviously flustered now, and Nori was practically wiggling in place, the reaction was so familiar, and so good to see. Jane patted Thorin’s knee. “You are, ah, fully welcome to do that?”

Frerin was holding a hand over his mouth and trying not to laugh himself silly.

Jane was saved further embarrassment when Bifur’s phone rang loud enough to make everyone jump.

“Sorry!” Bifur said quickly, apologizing. “It’s Bombur.” He swiped and answered his phone.

Out of the corner of his eye, Nori saw Jane pull away and replace her chair at the conference room table. Thorin followed quietly, but eagerly. After a rushed conversation, Bifur ended the conversation and turned back to the collective.

“Bombur is ecstatic to hear Kili found you,” he directed to Jane. “He says hello, and he is closing the restaurant for the rest of the day, and if we’d all like to make our way there, he’s promised us a celebration like one we’d had in the old days.” He winked as the rest of the Company cheered. “We still, however, cannot promise the safety of any and all dishes in the vicinity.”

Jane grinned and rolled her eyes, but something else flitted across Jane’s face, and Nori found himself realizing that the other shoe was about to drop. “I’d love to!” Jane said over the noise. “I’d love to.” Jane repeated when the noise died down again. “But I - I think I should stay here for a bit.”

“Why?” Fili asked, expressing the hurt of the entire Company.

Thorin came in front of Jane, putting a hand on the smaller woman’s shoulder. “Bilbo - Jane.” He began. “What’s wrong?” Thorin’s concern was reminiscent any number of times Nori could remember in Arda, when Thorin would approach individual members of his people, and his Company, and ask what was troubling them. The only difference now, was that it was Bilbo that Thorin was addressing, and so the concern was double what it would normally have been.

Jane bit her lip. “There’s something I have to tell you all.” She looked away from Thorin, towards the Company and back. She took Thorin’s hand from her shoulder, and squeezed his forearm, and with that simple action Nori knew that whatever it was was bad. Not Ring bad, but close.

Nori tensed up unconsciously, feeling as if battle was about to be joined.

Jane breathed in a heavy, nervous, breath. “When I awoke a few weeks ago - when I remembered being Bilbo. No, you know what, let me start again.” She took Thorin’s hand, and Nori could practically see the cogs moving in Thorin’s head.

“Thorin,” Jane said gently. “When I awoke a few weeks ago, I didn’t believe, at first, that I was anything but alone in remembering Arda, Erebor, or even the Shire, but… That changed. Quite abruptly, actually. It turned out that I had a modern friend whom I had made, erm... _brief acquaintance_ with during the Quest for Erebor as well. He also remembers the Quest and Arda. He is, erm…” Jane hesitated, and visibly changed what she had been to say. “He’s actually my best friend, and, I work with him. He's a good man when he wants to be.” She paused, seemingly trying to sort it all out in her head, and nodded to herself. “Yes. Right. Work with is a good way to put it.”

“Bilbo.” Thorin said gently, but sternly, drawing her attention back to him. “If this man is a friend of yours, and was a friend of ours during the quest, then he shall be welcome to come with us. We would be happy to have him.”

Jane tensed, and then gave a very nervous laugh that did absolutely nothing from stopping Nori’s stomach feeling like he’d just swallowed a lump of lead. “Well, I. Oh Yavanna, this is - Actually.” She patted his hand. “Thorin, actually, the person I’m talking about is -”

“She means me.” Came a low, rather amused sounding voice from the doorway of the conference room - a voice that was abominably familiar and turned Nori’s veins to rivers of ice. “Don’t prevaricate, Jane. It was going to come out sooner or later.”

As one, the members of the Company - the only ones who would recognize that voice - snapped their attention towards the tall, pale figure with curly hair standing with his hands behind his back, legs apart, eyes glittering with something Nori couldn't identify, and a taunting smile.

“Hello.” Smaug - this _human_ form of Smaug - said, sounding implausibly innocent. “Have I missed the fun?”

 

**End Chapter 4**

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *This is where Kili gets it from.  
> **MWAHAHAHAHAHA Foreshadowing. I shall not lie, I was grinning like a loon when I wrote that.  
> ***There shall be a one-shot dedicated to the reason for this later.


	5. Ground Rules

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reaction to Smauglock's grand entrance, Greg gets a bit angry, and Kili is...well...Kili.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! Sorry for the wait! I am still in the midst of preparing to move to Jolly Old England, also some family related issues/events came up, but I managed to get this chapter banged out. 
> 
> Tried to post last night, but Ao3 went into unexpected downtime. Had to start over! All my beautiful italics gone. Gone! As if they had never existed!
> 
> Hope you enjoy it.
> 
> -teacup

* * *

  
There was a short cacophony of startled, horrified screaming.

All Jane managed to get out was an extremely exasperated “oh for goodness’ sake!” Before Dwalin used his sheer strength to wrench the heavy conference table over onto its side with a short, bone-jarring battle cry, breaking off one of the table’s legs to use as a club.

Jane was, along with the very confused, startled forms of Frerin and Dis, bodily whisked behind the aforementioned conference table within a matter of seconds. They were then encircled by the possibly frightened, but very determined, present members of the Company, with Thorin and Dwalin being the ones closest to Sherlock. Most reached for non-existent weapons and were very frustrated not to find them.

Sherlock, the git, wasn’t helping matters. He was outright pleased at the chaos he’d caused, his eyes closed, his lips pursed in what could only be an expression of pleasure. “The screaming.” He said wistfully, making Jane want to climb over the conference table and clobber him. “How I missed the screaming.”

Nori snarled something in Khuzdul that Jane couldn’t translate, but she subsequently worried when she realized that, true to form, Nori had one of his daggers on him and was brandishing it. Sherlock, whom Jane wasn’t sure could understand the dwarrow language, certainly understood the sentiment and practically beamed at Nori. Jane immediately tried to put herself between Nori and Sherlock, but was dragged back into the circle by a strong arm circling her waist. She looked over her shoulder to see Bifur - torn between keeping an eye on her, and on the apparent dragon in the room - shake his head. Jane wiggled forward anyway, and was dragged back again.

Thankfully, whatever Sherlock was about to start with Nori, he was distracted when Thorin (slightly shakily, if Jane was any slight judge) spoke. “ _You_.” He spat angrily.

“Me.” Sherlock parroted gleefully. “Hello _Oakenshield_. How very dramatic of you.”

“Pot. Kettle.” Jane half-shouted at her friend, and then tried to ignore it as the present members of the Company turned to glare at her as if she’d gone mad.

“The opportunity to make a grand entrance was there. How could I _not_ use it?” He whined. “I have _some_ pride left.” He sniffed haughtily.

Jane rolled her eyes, still ignoring the Company. While everyone was distracted, she took a tiny step forward. When Bifur - too shocked, probably - didn’t immediately drag her back, Jane knew she was onto something. As Sherlock was looking at her, and correctly interpreted her intentions, he seemed to agree.

“I told _you_ to stay downstairs.” She said, using the most normal tone she had at her disposal, and took another tiny step forward. Everyone just had to remain calm for all this to work out well. 

Sherlock rocked back and forth on his heels. “I got bored.” He said, unconvincingly.

Jane raised an eyebrow at him, and took another tiny step forward. She was finally free of Bifur’s grasp, and hoped that he was too stunned to notice yet.

“I texted you. Molly kicked me out -” Sherlock began to explain.

From the corner of her eye, Jane saw Nori check the text messages on her phone. (She’d stopped the push notifications from the text app, so that Sherlock couldn’t bother her during clinic, and sometimes forgot to put it back on.)

The situation would have been much less funny if the Company weren’t looking back and forth between them, as though they were at Wimbledon. “What did you do, Sherlock?” Jane interrupted with an exaggerated sigh.

She was by Nori now, the only obstacles left between herself and Sherlock being Thorin, Dwalin, and the conference room table. She gently plucked the dagger from the thief's fingers and put it in her pocket. Nori didn’t seem to notice, the way he was looking between her and her phone.

Sherlock rocked back and forth on his heels. “I got bored.” He repeated unconvincingly.

Jane raised an eyebrow at him, but otherwise continued to make sure that her forward momentum was unimpeded, despite the fact that she was now slightly squeezing through the gap between Thorin and Dwalin, careful not to touch them and break the spell. So far, they hadn’t stopped her. “Oh?” She asked, in a tone that demanded details.

“I improved the decor.” Sherlock said, and if he wasn’t completely, coyly pleased with himself for whatever damage he’d caused, Jane would eat her socks.

“Oh yay!” Jane said instead, sarcastically. “That usually means property damage.” She was at the table now, and she put her hands on the edge of it casually, leaning against it to see how much weight she could put on it, so that when she leapt over, it wouldn’t just topple over (again). “No Hobnobs for you.”

Sherlock hummed noncommittally. “I ate all the ones at home.”

Jane snorted. “Naturally. This time, you’re going to Tesco’s and getting them, along with the milk.”

“But it’s your turn to buy the milk!” Sherlock protested.

Jane grinned, and prepared to jump. “It’s _always_ my turn to buy the milk.”

If she had been facing Thorin, Jane would have noticed that amidst her banter with Sherlock Thorin had started to come out of his stupefied state and was watching her intently. That alone would have caused her plan to fail, if not for the fact that the fates were clearly against her in the form of Dain Ironfoot.

The big redhead blustered into the room, barrelling past Sherlock with Lestrade in his wake, both standing between the two opposing groups.

“What by Mahal is going on here?!” Dain bellowed, looking at Thorin in askance, and then to Jane.

Before Jane could respond, she was beaten to it by Dis.

“Frerin and I would like to know that too.” Dis said loudly. “Also, preferably, _why_ we’re cowering behind a table from what appears to be a human stick?"

Actually.” Lestrade said angrily, and all eyes turned to him. “Seeing as this is _my police station_ , I think someone should tell me what’s going on. _Now_. You -” He pointed to Dwalin. “I am going to charge with destruction of police property.”

Dwalin looked slightly ashamed - but only a little. He didn’t drop his makeshift club. But he did shift it so that the large nail in the end wasn’t visible.

“You probably need to charge Sherlock with the same.” Jane told Greg tiredly. “And I’ll talk, I promise.”

Greg turned his eyes to Sherlock. “Yes. I do. Molly called me. _Why_ do you keep setting the mortuary on fire?”

“It looks _better_ that way.” Sherlock repeated, refusing to answer the question seriously and waving his hand as if it was unimportant. “What matters is that Jane and I left case files at home, and we need to go home. Immediately.”

It was a ploy to get Jane away from the dwarrow, and if the situation wasn’t so perilous, Jane would have commented on how weak it was. Not only that, it let the cat out of the bag somewhat prematurely, really. If she was going to go, now was the time. Lestrade was starting to berate Sherlock, which made for as good a distraction as she was likely to get.

Jane leaped, but only made it half over the conference room table when there were several strangled noises behind her and she was dragged back behind the table by both Dwalin and Thorin and held bodily between them. That brought Lestrade’s attention back to the dwarrow.

Thorin was looking down at her, searching Jane’s face. “You _live_ with it?” He asked in a disbelieving rumble.

“His _name_ is _Sherlock_ , in this life.” Jane snapped back. “And he’s my best friend and colleague, and yes, we share a flat here in London.”

Thorin’s eyebrows rose, and Jane would have been amused at the expression on his face if it weren’t for the fact that she could hear several someones having an apoplexy behind her.

Dain interrupted their exchange, which was probably for the best. “Can someone please explain?” He walked over to Sherlock, looked Sherlock up and down, and then slapped him on the back hard enough to nearly pitch him over. “I dunno what the lads are afraid of!” He chuckled, holding Sherlock upright. Sherlock at least was too surprised to protest. “You wouldn’t be frightening even if we gave you a sword!”

Jane would have laughed if she wasn’t in a dwarrow death grip, which was mostly Dwalin at this point because Thorin was trying to move in front of her, as if he needed to protect her. He hadn’t quite managed it, however, as she was kicking him in the gastrocnemius every time he tried, making him jump, or wince, or glare at her each time she connected.

“That man.” Thorin growled to his cousin, while his eyes were focused on Sherlock. “Was once _Smaug_.”

Dain recoiled so fast Jane thought he might have gotten whiplash. Behind her, Jane heard Dis gasp, and someone - she suspected Frerin - made a surprised, curious noise.

“ _What?!_ ” The Iron Hills dwarrow gaped. “You- he can’t be, he doesn’t even look-”

“Who is Smaug?” Greg asked in confusion, anger ebbing slightly.

“Me. I was.” Sherlock told him.

Lestrade raised an eyebrow, and then swept a hand to indicate the trashed room, seeking an explanation.

Sherlock grumbled. “They don’t like me because I was their mortal enemy, once upon a time.”

Lestrade blinked at him, which Sherlock also ignored. “I may have done something to anger them.”

Thorin wordlessly snarled.

“Jane?” Lestrade asked, seeking an explanation no one else seemed to be able to give him.

“The erm...person...Sherlock used to be, may have forcibly taken over their kingdom, killed quite a few people and forced the survivors to wander in exile for years.”

Lestrade pointedly raised his eyebrows in surprise at Sherlock. Sherlock had the decency to look ashamed. “I was a very different, ah, person then. And I was only acting within my nature.”

“Your nature.” Lestrade deadpanned.

“In all fairness,” Jane tried to add helpfully. “He was a centuries-old dragon at the time?”

Greg stared at her, swiveled to stare at Sherlock, and then back to Jane. He closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead. “Right. Not touching _that_ with a ten foot pole.”

“It was a very, very long time ago.” Sherlock said gently. “Jane?” The consulting detective asked, catching sight of her “can we go home now?” For a moment, Jane realized that, for all the amusement that sneaking up on the dwarrow had given Sherlock, he was still very much afraid of how he’d be treated, especially if the dwarrow got him alone. And took her away.

“I’m _trying_.” Jane said in exasperation, struggling against Dwalin’s arm around her waist. “Dwalin, son of Fundin. Let me go, or I _swear_ I will drop you where you stand.”

“She’ll do it laddie.” Dain warned, not taking his eyes off of Sherlock. “Did it to me earlier. Where did you learn to do that lad - lass?”

Sherlock opened his mouth to respond for her.

“Sherlock, I swear, if you even -” Jane said. She could feel herself going red in the face, pushing against Dwalin’s arm again.

“Wait.” Fili said tentatively behind her. “Bilbo - you don’t _really_ \- I mean, it’s _Smaug_!”

“He’s not a sodding _monster_!” Jane yelled, making the dwarrow, including Thorin, jump. “In this life, he’s a _human being_ , just like _you!_ ”  She turned to Sherlock. “ _Why_ couldn’t you have stayed downstairs until I'd sorted this out?”

Sherlock shrugged. “Would have likely taken too long. This is faster.” He grinned at her, ignoring her exasperated ire. “And Molly did kick me out.”

He was pleased, Jane was going to murder him when she got to the other side of the table. “Dwalin, let go.” She ordered the former warrior next to her.

“No, do not let the Burglar go.” Thorin ordered next to her. “Under any circumstances.”

There was a steel in Thorin’s tone that Jane recognized - he’d made some sort of decision, and when in a fight, it was likely to be a reckless one. Which meant trouble for Bilbo Baggins, as usual. Judging from the glare Thorin also threw in her direction, Jane guessed that they’d be having words later. Loud, angry, words. (So, as normal, really. At least one thing in this mess was.)

“Sorry Bilbo.” Dwalin said. “I’m going to side with Thorin on this one.” He tightened his grip around Jane’s waist.

“Right.” Lestrade snapped angrily. All eyes turned to the detective inspector. “Everyone shut up. Especially you two.” He indicated Sherlock and Thorin alike. “ _You_.” He pointed to Dwalin. “If you don’t let go of Jane Watson _this bloody second_ , I’m charging you with both destruction of police property and _holding a hostage_!”

Dwalin let go of Jane as if she was on fire. Jane took the opportunity to jump over the conference room table, though several of the dwarrow tried to make a grab for her, including Thorin. Jane went to stand near Lestrade, as a form of protection.

Greg glared at her, as if to indicate ‘what the fuck did you bring in here?” And Jane sighed.  “Greg. I sincerely apologize for them. They’re house-trained. I swear.”

Greg’s mouth twitched, but he was still angry. “Introductions. Please.” He managed.

“Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade, may I present my good friends - don’t give me that look, they _were_ good friends - from a past life, His Majesty King Thorin Oakenshield, his sister Princess Dis and her sons Kili and Fili, and his brother Prince Frerin of Erebor.”

Greg’s eyebrows rose, recognizing the ‘Erebor’ that Jane had mentioned before. Jane quickly introduced the rest of the Company. Dwalin had since hid his makeshift club behind the overturned table. Jane then turned to Sherlock. “And when Sherlock said that he was their mortal enemy, well...he wasn’t quite lying. Sherlock used to be known as…” Jane covered her face with a hand. “Smaug the Magnificent.”

Greg bit his lip.

“I liked it better when you called me Smaug the Mighty, or Smaug the Terrible, or, Smaug the Chiefest and Greatest of Calamities.” Sherlock suggested. “I sound like a circus act when you call me ‘the Magnificent’.”

“Which one did you prefer?” Jane asked sarcastically. “So I know for later.”

“All of them.” Sherlock said, as if it was obvious. “I was, after all, all of them.”  

“Even ‘Smaug the enormous squatter’?” Jane grinned, trying to defuse the tension in the room.

“ _Squatter?_ ” Sherlock spluttered. “I wasn’t - and you _never_ -”

Greg was very obviously trying not to laugh now, but instead gave Jane a serious look. He breathed in, as if about to say something, decided against it, and said instead “why did they,” he indicated the collection of dwarrow still lurking behind the table. Though Frerin looked like he was about to make a break for it. “Call you a burglar?”

“Ah.” Jane repeated, her pause longer this time. “I sort of, was employed as a burglar. Just once. They were paying me to steal from Smaug.”

Greg was giving her the deadpan look again. “You’re the least likely burglar I’ve ever met and - believe it or not - I’ve met a few.”

“It was a bit of a surprise to me too?” Jane offered sheepishly. “And I was pretty mediocre at it.”

There was a collective snort from those in the know.

Jane glared at them. “Ok, I was not all that mediocre at it. But, to be fair, some of that was sheer dumb luck*.”

“She successfully stole one of the most important artifacts of our people from under the dragon.” Fili supplied.

“That’s debatable.” Sherlock sniffed.

“No, it really isn’t.” Jane replied, reaching across Greg to flick Sherlock’s arm, making him wince.

Greg breathed in, gulped and said in a paned tone. “I’ve decided I don’t want to know.”

“Yes you do.” Sherlock drawled.

“Yes, I do.” Greg admitted with a breathy sigh and his shoulders fell. “But right now, someone has got to pay for the table. And it’s not going to be _me_.”

 

* * *

 

 

Twenty minutes later, Dwalin had re-attached the table leg and turned it back upright, and they were all sitting around it.

There was, sadly, a divide. Greg, Jane, Sally, Sherlock - and oddly - Frerin and Kili were sitting on one side, while the rest of the dwarrow collectively squished together on the other side.

Sherlock looked a bit baffled, as Frerin and Kili had decided to sit on either side of him. Kili was gazing at the former dragon intently and somewhat speculatively, whereas Frerin was openly grinning at him without hinting as to why. Jane was watching them both _very_ carefully.

Nori had refused to relinquish her phone, to Jane’s dismay, and was rapidly going through the contents, with Nori’s own phone in his other hand, obviously cross-checking information. Jane wanted it back. Unfortunately, while she was watching people, most of the dwarrow were watching _her_. It felt...uncomfortable.

It felt like the first week or so that they had been on the Quest for Erebor, all over again. Or when it had been revealed that Bilbo Baggins had given the Arkenstone to Thorin’s ‘enemies’.

Only this time, she’d sided with the dragon before she’d known Sherlock was Smaug, and was in the right (which, technically, he’d been right about the Arkenstone too) this time. Anyone giving her the stink eye would have an angry former Hobbit on their hands.

Which meant that Thorin was due for one any second now.

He was sitting across from her, not glaring so much as keenly observing. Jane - Bilbo - had never been able to read Thorin well. He was stoic to the extreme, sometimes. In both lives now, she’d seem him wearing a dearth of emotion, but whatever the king was thinking now was well hidden behind a blank countenance and stormy eyes.

It was Greg, who thankfully decided to try to break down the picket lines. “Right. So. Thank you for filling me in,” he said. The dwarrow had given their account of what had happened centuries prior, and Greg had interrupted Sherlock half way through the consulting detective’s account, due to the threat of the probable destruction of conference room two - again. “Jane. I’m still going to suggest that you have your head examined, but judging that insanity was clearly with you in your other life, they probably won’t find anything concrete.”

Frerin snickered.

“You’ll be happy to know,” Jane glowered. “That when I returned home from the Quest for Erebor, the whole of Hobbiton labeled me “Mad Baggins” and I was never able to get rid of the sobriquet.”

There was a growl from the dwarrow-heavy side of the table.

“Nori said something ‘bout that.” Dwalin grumbled. “Didn’t like it much.”

Jane rolled her eyes. “It was a lifetime ago. Quite literally. And I was the first Hobbit to leave the Shire in a very long time. While the Shire was fine with a bit of eccentricity, but leaving the Shire for so long and coming back apparently rich, and with what sounded like tall tales? It was a bit _too_ eccentric for the Shire.”

“Should have taken you back to Erebor. Or never let you leave in the first place.” Dwalin growled.

“Because that was a good solution?” Jane snapped. “To forcibly keep me from my people, and my home, and -”

“Enough.” Greg interrupted the brewing argument. “Right now, I want to set some ground rules. First. I don’t care what happened to _any_ of you in your past lives, anyone so much attacks anyone from either side, at _any_ point in time, I’ll know who to go after. Am I clear?”

The dwarrow looked discomfited, but didn’t say anything. Thankfully, to Jane, Sherlock didn’t either.

“Second,” Greg said. “Any past-life related business that you have with Jane? That stays outside New Scotland Yard. You don’t hang around here, or her, or even Sherlock, without legitimate reason, or I - or one of my colleagues -  will show up with a warrant.”

This time, the dwarrow nodded, but Sherlock looked slightly smug.

“Any questions so far?” Greg asked mildly.

“Actually, I have one.” Bifur spoke up, leaning forward to engage his friend. “Jane, what do you do here exactly?”

“Sherlock is a consulting detective.” Jane replied. “He helps Scotland Yard solve crimes, and I help Sherlock.”

There was an inquisitive grumble from the dwarrow.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “We’ve only been in the paper several times a year.” At the general scowling in his direction, Sherlock added. “Mostly murderers. Other things too.”

“So, Jane helps you solve the murders, and the police handle the murderers?” Thorin asked, his finally leaving Jane.

“What? No.” Sherlock said, almost affronted. “Where is the fun in that?”

Jane barely resisted the urge to put her head in her hands. “We...sometimes go after them ourselves.” She said in a rush. The former dwarrow looked fixedly at her, none of them appeared pleased.

“And not all of our cases are murders.” Jane insisted, kicking Greg under the table before he could say a word. Nobody, she suspected, was fooled.

“Robberies, kidnappings, terrorist attacks, smuggling, fraud.” Sherlock was rattling off on his fingers. “Graffitiers, arsons, pickpocket gangs, abductions.”

The dwarrow were still glowering at her. Admittedly, Dis looked a little impressed.

“ _Not helping_.” Jane hissed at Sherlock through clenched teeth.

Sherlock actually looked confused (he _had_ to be pretending, the twat) and dropped his hands. “Sorry, was I meant to be?”

Jane did put her head in her hands this time.  

“You’d think that after seeing her in dangerous situations a lifetime ago, even if one of the situations _was_ you” Dwalin adressed Sherlock. “You’d keep her out of trouble, as you’re her _friend_.” There was doubt lacing every one of Dwalin’s words.

“ _Excuse me?!_ ” Jane snapped her head up and fixed Dwalin with an angry glare. “Sherlock isn’t my damn _keeper_!”

“If anything,” Lestrade said quietly, so only those closest to him heard it. “Jane is _Sherlock’s_.” Frerin laughed aloud.

Sherlock’s eyes gleamed at Thorin’s former right hand  with a look that Jane didn’t like, but at the moment she did not care enough to stop him. “I don’t presume to tell Jane what she is capable of. Nor do I hold her back. It would be an extremely stupid thing to do, and I am certain that Jane would cause me to regret it if I did it.”

“Damn fucking straight.” Jane bit out with a sharp nod. “I would shoot you if you tried.”

Someone, Jane didn’t bother looking for who, snorted. Sherlock lashed out before she could say anything. “Jane may have told you that she was a doctor, what she likely did not tell you is that Jane was also, until recently, _Captain Jane Watson_ of the _Royal Army Medical Corps_. She was one of the best shots, and best soldiers, the Corps had seen in the last _decade_. If Jane threatens to shoot you, you should take her threat _very_ seriously.” Sherlock’s voice had dropped to a low, nearly dragon-like growl.

The dwarrow, some paler than others, goggled at Jane, whose jaw was clenched so tightly that Sherlock reached over to squeeze her wrist gently. It was just enough assurance, just when she needed it.

“I may have been nearly useless in combat the _first_ time around,” she managed to say. “This time, I assure you that I’ve more than made up the difference. If any of you had the slightest inkling that I was going to be a _delicate little flower_ just because I’m _female_ , and was a _bit sheltered_ the first time… or that I’m going to listen to any attempt to keep me from doing what I want, you’ve got the wrong woman, and you need to leave now.”

There was enough anger in her tone to make even Thorin seemingly deflate. Dis though, was looking at Jane like she was absolutely brilliant, and Jane had no idea what to do with it. Frerin, Fili, and Kili were slowly grinning, gazing at her in some sort of realization (at least that’s what Jane thought it was), and childish awe respectively, were looking directly at her. No one else was able to look her directly in the eye, oddly, also with the exception of Nori, Jane noticed. He seemed to be doing a wiggle in his chair that she couldn’t help explaining as anything other than a victory dance.

Briefly, Jane felt her temper flare, and suppressed it. “We’re living different lives, remember?” Jane said, more even toned. “We’re all a bit different. Some more than others. We’re just going to have to deal with those changes, no matter how divergent.”

Between Kili and Frerin, Sherlock gave a little jump, but immediately tried to pretend that he hadn’t. Kili, to Jane’s morbid curiosity, looked thrilled.

“Besides. Whatever my life is like, whatever I have done,” Jane said, ignoring whatever the youngest Durin boy was up to for the moment. “It is still _my_ life. Don’t you _dare_ think that you can judge me for it. None of us came out of our first lives smelling like roses.” She said darkly. She refused to look at Thorin. “Some of you, likely, are facing the same realization.”

The room was quiet for the moment, as Jane let her words sink into the dwarrow’s thick skulls.

“So. I am a former Captain in the Army, a doctor, and I can do the same as I could back on Arda - meaning that I can do whatever I _damn_ well please. Understood?”

It was Nori who nodded first, and everyone else seemed to follow suit automatically.

“Well, that’s been settled.” Greg said calmly, trying to diffuse the tension, and reminding Jane a bit of Mycroft. “Third rule, if anything, and considering what I’ve just heard I’m going to make this one a priority, comes up, at any time, from your past lives that might be considered a threat - like this Azog arse - you come and tell me, and the Past Life Registration Office. They have a task force to deal with people in past lives looking for revenge in this one. Thank goodness it’s them and not me.” Jane cracked a smile at him. “Do we have a deal?”

“Yes. We do.” Thorin acknowledged, speaking for all the dwarrow. “We have no desire for a repeat of past feuds. Or of the casualties.” His gaze, Jane was pleased to see, lingered heavily on his sister-sons.

Sherlock jumped in his seat again. Jane cast questioning look at Kili, and this time, most of those present did do. “Are you _poking_ Sherlock in the ribs?” Jane asked quizzically, but also fairly certain of the answer.

“Yes.” Kili said, and did it again, snickering at Sherlock’s disgusted look, and the consulting detective's attempt to squirm away.

“Why are you doing this?” Sherlock questioned in exasperation. "I do not appreciate it."

“Never poke a sleeping dragon?” Kili suggested, purposefully getting the quotation wrong. “But also, you can’t be that bad if you're letting me do this?" He turned to Thorin and the rest of the dwarrow. "I’m not dead, or on fire, and besides, he keeps Bilbo safe, and Bilbo likes him. She’s right, about this being a different set of circumstances.” He paused. “So...we can keep him right?

Everyone stared.

“What?” Kili asked, miffed. "I'm right!"

“I’m with Kili.” Frerin announced to the room at large. "I like him."

“Mahal.” Thorin groaned after a moment, and then copied Jane’s motion from earlier, putting his head in his hands.

Sherlock looked like he wanted to bite someone.

 

End Chapter 5

 

* * *

 

 

*Now, I wonder where that line came from...

 

 


	6. An Exposition of a Former Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set the week before Dain Ironfoot meets our former Hobbit, Jane Watson goes to tell Mycroft Holmes about her former life - and Sherlock's.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back!!!!! Grad school is kicking me in the rear, but I managed to get this chapter written.
> 
> Hope you enjoy it!
> 
> All the best,
> 
> teacup

* * *

  ** _Set the week before Dain Ironfoot’s encounter with Jane Watson in NSY._**

* * *

 

“Dr. Watson is here to see you sir.” Anthea said, letting Jane into the office.

Mycroft looked up from his reading - normally he left whomever Anthea brought into his inner sanctum to stew slightly for a few minutes. In this case, however, he knew why Jane was here and set his work aside.

Jane, who had only been in this room twice and neither time to sightsee, was looking about with undisguised interest.

“Jane.” Mycroft greeted, once Anthea had shut the door. “Welcome.”

“Thank you.” Jane replied, looking away from the marble bust on one of the bookshelves. “It’s...good to be here, I think.”

Mycroft huffed a laugh. “Tea?” He came around his desk to draw Jane towards a pair of chairs and a coffee table.

“Please.” Jane replied.

Mycroft crossed back to his desk to depress the intercom button. “Tea please, Anthea.”

“Sir.”

Jane had by this time settled into one of the plush blue chairs that decorated the room - one of a pair that were special order. The first pair of chairs that had come with the office, along with the now also missing coffee table, had had to be replaced when electronic bugs had been found within them.  Mycroft took the time between calling for the tea and crossing back over to his brother’s colleague to surreptitiously, personally, examine the former Army surgeon for any changes since her remembrance.

It had not been very long since Jane’s recollection of her past life, and Sherlock had apparently revealed (or perhaps confirmed) that he had known her once.

The customary surveillance that Mycroft constantly had on the flatmates had shown that the pair, whom had already settled into something similar to their previous, strangely functional symbiosis - and had somehow become closer than before. They spoke amongst themselves in what appeared to be not one, but three unknown and distinctly individual languages. In addition, Sherlock seemed to be rapidly teaching Jane a fourth (which had prompted Mycroft to once again re-evaluate his estimated intelligence of Jane Watson - accomplished surgeon, soldier, and apparent linguist, not counting her knowledge of French and Pashtun - and schedule a series of subtle intelligence tests, which with any luck Jane would never discover).

Similarly, Jane, whose cooking skills had been enough to live on normally, had apparently now developed the cooking skills of a gourmet chef (and it was unfair, as Mycroft had begun to get hungry while watching the surveillance tapes).  

Physically, analysis had showed that Jane had begun to carry her weight differently when distracted - as if she was used to being much smaller (though she was, admittedly, already quite short). And she had begun to absentmindedly overeat*, which had resulted in an extra, more elaborate exercise regimen.  

What Mycroft knew, and he was quite certain that Sherlock did not, was that multiple times Jane had awoken from a nap on the couch in 221B to either stare uncomprehendingly at the smiley face on the wall for about fifteen minutes, breathing rapidly and clenching and unclenching her fists - or in a panic and bursting into tears. Just as worrying was that Jane had developed a habit of absentmindedly sticking her fingers into her right hand pocket, realize what she’d done, and rip her fingers away as if she’d been burned, and shudder.

There were many soldiers who had come home from service with PTSD. Mycroft was concerned that Jane’s past life had only compounded the issue on top what she had already faced in her current life.

He pursed his lips. “Perhaps we should have something stronger as well?” He suggested, producing an actual laugh from Jane.

“I think we’re going to need something stronger, by the end of this.” Jane agreed, rubbing her face.

Mycroft raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. Jane’s request was...neither concerning, nor unusual, and unless something untoward occurred, Mycroft would put the eagerness for liquor down to nerves.

When they were settled in, tea liberally dosed with whiskey** that was more expensive than Jane wanted to contemplate, Mycroft settled back into his chair, convinced that the alcohol had simply been for nerves. Jane was more relaxed than she was when she’d entered.

“How are you adjusting?” Mycroft asked.

“Fine.” Jane said, and then when it was clear that he wasn’t convinced, said. “I will be, eventually.” She took a deep breath. “There are some things...that are hard to get over. No matter how much time you’ve had before.”

Mycroft nodded, though he only half understood.

“Sherlock was more or less pleased that I’d finally woken up.” She smiled.

“Finally?” Mycroft asked. “Ah, you inferred that Sherlock had remembered his past life at the age of five. As he will likely never confide in me, may I ask-”

“He was five.” Jane confirmed.

Mycroft temporarily set his teacup on the arm of his chair, and for a brief moment allowed himself to outwardly express surprise. “That is, admittedly, earlier than I had hoped. It does, however, explain certain eccentricities.”

Jane shook her head with an amused look on her face. “Not yet it doesn’t, I promise you.”

Mycroft cocked his head, entertained despite himself. “Oh?”

“I’ll get to it.” Jane promised. “But yes, Sherlock was five when he remembered. And while he wasn’t entirely certain if I was going to show up in this life, he was genuinely dismayed to find that when we did manage to find our way to each other, _I_ didn’t remember a single thing.”

Mycroft had to bite his lip from smiling completely, but he did give a closed mouthed chuckle that he attempted to hide behind a sip of tea. Jane’s eyes were twinkling merrily.

“In fact, the he told me so when I revealed that I remembered. And I quote, ‘ _Do you know how long I’ve been waiting?!_ ’”

Mycroft did laugh at this, Jane joining in because the laughter was infectious.

“It probably didn’t help that I’d taunted him.” Jane supplied.

“Your relationship with Sherlock in your past life was similar to yours in this life?” Mycroft queried. It would make a good deal of sense, with the way they seemed to mesh together.

Jane choked on her tea, and when she recovered enough to be coherent, trying to laugh at the same time. “Oh no, no absolutely not. In no way were Sherlock and I friends. I’m fairly certain that he would have preferred to eat me, all told.”

Mycroft found he had no words for this, until one finally left his throat. “ _What?!_ ”

Jane dissolved into laughter, as Mycroft contemplated the implication that his brother had been some sort of savage ogre. Anthea poked her head into the room to make sure that he was fine, which made Jane laugh all the harder.

Mycroft was staring at her, unabashedly so. “Explain.” He insisted.

When Jane calmed down enough, she said. “I’ll tell you, as promised.” She said. “But...I think you’re going to have to suspend your disbelief of quite a few things, before I’m done telling you.”

Mycroft, questions whirling in his brain, simply waved at her to continue. The story Jane wove - and her storytelling was excellent - was of a past that Mycroft would never have begun to believe had it not been coming out of the mouth of someone who had lived it. Jane told of lurking evil, of epic battles, harrowing quests, joy and heartbreak, of gold and Sherlock - a _dragon_ of all things - and of different species uniting to fend off disaster - and of a tiny Hobbit, heading home alone.

Hours passed, and when Jane finally wound the tale down, they’d devolved from civilized, whisky laden tea to actual glasses of whiskey. A much depleted bottle of whiskey sat on the table between them, and the pair of them were approaching decently tipsy. Mycroft had lost his blazer some time before the Company of Thorin Oakenshield had entered the Goblin Caves, and Jane had slumped in her chair, happily dazed.

“I have _questions_.” Mycroft said, a few minutes after Jane had finished.

“No. _Really_.” Jane’s sarcasm was intermingled with giggles. “I would _never_ have imagined that _you_ , of all people, would have questions.”

Mycroft ignored her jibe. “I am extremely relieved to learn that my brother was not actually a cannibalistic serial killer.”

“ _Well_ ,” Jane began, drawing out the word.

“ _Being a dragon does not count._ ” Mycroft emphasized. “Aside from that _particular_ issue, I must ask if have you considered the possibility that _you_ are - rather Bilbo was - the reason behind the past-life event phenomenon?”

The laughter died on Jane’s lips. She frowned. “Sorry?”

“There is no way we can be sure. However, you essentially told Smaug that if you two ever were reincarnated, you would like to be there to witness it.” Mycroft suggested.

Jane straightened out of her slump somewhat. “I’m not sure I can believe that I was the cause.” She said finally, leaning forward to rest her elbows on her knees. “I - as Bilbo Baggins - couldn’t possibly have been the first to wish something like that on an enemy, or at the very least someone who was irking them.”

“Possibly not.” Mycroft admitted. “But you did curse a dragon, and as I suspect there was magic -” Mycroft made a face at that. Magic may have existed in that time, but he could not bring himself to believe in it. “Floating about - well, it is strange, isn’t it?”

Jane bit her lip. “Yes.” She sighed. “And it being me - Bilbo - something like that would have happened, wouldn't it?”

“It sounds like something that would have occurred to Bilbo Baggins, absolutely.” Mycroft agreed.

Jane slowly chuckled. “Shit, give me that bottle. I don’t want to remember that being suggested. At all. I’ve caused enough pain and misery, and I’ve only generated more, haven’t I?”

Mycroft moved the bottle away from her reach. “No. Quite a bit of happiness has resulted from past-life remembrances. More than the bad, if I have read the data reports correctly.”  

Jane wasn't convinced.

“At least a thousand marriages, several hundred births, the creation of several landless nation-states - two of which are actually attempting to petition for recognition from the United Nations - the uptick in number of newly remembered languages popping up can also be attributed to this as well - and will likely keep linguists happy for the next century. Art, science, history - all are getting boosts from the revelations that have come with past-life experiences. A new Renaissance, as it were, and this is just what has happened in the United Kingdom.” He took his hand off the bottle. “The same is occurring all over the world.” Jane was looking down at her hands. “Jane,” Mycroft cajoled. “The positives outweigh the negatives. Believe me, I have been watching for signs of adverse effects since this _began_. If you are the cause, than I am ill-convinced that you had negative intentions, or that the effects are - barring those who had remembered horrible things - truly harmful.”

Jane nodded, accepting the logic, and Mycroft slid the bottle over to her.

"It might not stay that way." Jane warned, and there were ghosts of the dark things she'd lived in her eyes. 

"We will be as ready for it as we can be, should the need arise." Mycroft assured. He'd been preparing for that eventuality as well. He needed to change the topic to something lighter, to chase the memories away. “Will you teach me one of the elvish languages?” He asked, as Jane poured herself another finger of whisky. “Sherlock would not be pleased in the least.”

Jane grinned, and Mycroft was glad of the minor success. “Oh, I can do that.” She raised her glass. “To the happiness of those re-discovering past lives.” She toasted.

He reached across and clinked his tumbler with hers. “And to your own, hopefully happier, ending.”

“Wouldn’t be hard.” Jane replied, but took a sip of her drink in any case. “Though, I would have liked to see some of my old friends again.” She gained a wistful air that made Mycroft certain that he was, for a brief second, privileged enough to see simply Bilbo Baggins, rather than the amalgam of Jane Watson and her former self. The moment was lost when Jane’s phone pinged, signalling a text message. “That’ll be Sherlock.” Jane said, digging in her pocket for her phone.

“Should I send my brother a basket full of gold coins and stuffed dragon toys?” Mycroft asked mildly.

“He’ll set fire to the toys.” Jane said, reading the message. “Though he might thank you for the coins, even if my waistline won’t.”

“Just the toys then.” Mycroft agreed, drawing a barked laugh from Jane.

“I’d better go. Sherlock’s got a case at New Scotland yard and-” Jane said downed the rest of her glass, stood, and swayed. “On second thought, I think I should just go home.”

“I’ll send a car round and inform my brother and Detective Inspector Lestrade that you will not be attending.” Mycroft said, reaching for his phone. He wanted to retain his own dignity by not attempting to stand up.

“Thanks. And, you know, thanks for the whiskey.”

“Jane.” Mycroft said, as Jane wobbled her way to the door, leaving her glass on a side table.

“Thank you for telling me.” He said sincerely.

“Promised, didn’t I?” Jane said, holding onto the side of a bookshelf. “And...it was nice to tell someone the whole story again.”

Mycroft abruptly snorted with laughter, an action that was so irregular that Jane started, turning to look incredulously at the elder Holmes.

“What?”

“A _dragon_.” Mycroft smirked. “No wonder Sherlock insisted that he wanted to be a pirate so badly. They both have treasure hoards, and-”

Jane’s howl of laughter brought Anthea to the room at a run. No one had _ever_ laughed that hard in Mycroft Holmes’ office in living memory.

 

* * *

_**End Chapter Seven**_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Hobbit meal times are a hard habit to break.  
> **Currently a very popular liquor in London.


	7. 221b

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dis and Thorn go to 221b

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! I'm back for a little bit! Here's the next chapter. Enjoy!
> 
> As always, find me on tumblr and instagram as allhailthetea. 
> 
> -teacup

* * *

 

Thorin was very slowly walking through 221b as if, it seemed to Jane, he was trying to determine if he was just curious about his Burglar’s surroundings, or horrified by them. (Admittedly, Jane would have cleaned the flat if she’d known that Thorin and Dis would appear that day. Her former Hobbit sensibilities were very ashamed at the moment.)

Dis wasn’t much better, having opened the ‘science’ fridge while trying to find the lemonade, only to be greeted by the sight of a severed human hand that Sherlock was using for an experiment. While the former Princess had likely seen such things in her former life, seeing them in Jane’s flat in London, in the modern age, was not exactly common.

Jane wanted to throw Sherlock under the proverbial bus at the moment, but she hadn’t been the one to put the hand there, and he could deal with the fallout himself. 

“Please tell me he doesn’t bring home things like this often.” Dis pleaded. 

“Please tell me he doesn’t eat them.” Thorin had muttered under his breath, then looked slightly shamefaced when Jane glared at him. 

Jane laughed however, “we have two fridges for a reason, Dis. The ‘science’ fridge, and the ‘food’ fridge.” She pointed to the labels. Jane winced when Dis raised an eyebrow at her, indicating that the Princess was not fooled, and that Sherlock likely sometimes forgot which fridge was which. “It’s not as if living with Sherlock is the only place I’ve ever seen severed limbs. Former Army surgeon, remember?”

Thorin made a noise and turned to examine the rest of the kitchen as Jane ignored it. He would have to get used to her occupation, and her new experiences. 

“He’s more aware now that cross contamination of food with...experiments...is detrimental to both his health, and mine. He now keeps the majority of his anatomy projects at Saint Bart’s, or at the New Scotland Yard mortuary.” Jane explained. 

Dis wasn’t mollified, but nodded. 

“And all of this science kit?” Thorin asked from the living room.

Jane and Dis rounded the corner to see Thorin bemusedly indicating Sherlock’s packed chemistry workstation, where the scientific equipment was allowing something purple to slowly drip into a sealed Erlenmeyer flask . 

“We came to an agreement, he’s not allowed to work with toxins, poisonous gasses, or potentially explosive substances in the flat. He has a lab at King’s* for that.” (The lack of dangerous substances in the flat was technically a white lie, but what the Durins didn’t know at this rate was one less potential argument that Jane had to deal with.) 

“That is a relief.” Thorin breathed out, and he clearly meant it. 

“Thorin.” Jane came to stand in front of him, and was for a moment distracted by the lack of grey in the former king’s hair, the fewer lines in his face, and - She took a breath before continuing. “Sherlock is my friend, and he is very careful, most of the time, with what he brings into the flat. He was even before I remembered being Bilbo. He doesn’t like jeopardising my safety in what is meant to be a safe place.” 

Thorin nodding his understanding, and seemed to relax. Jane wasn’t going to mention the time she’d been kidnapped from the flat, or the Guy Fawkes bonfire. Hopefully, Thorin would never find out. 

“Are you...happy, living here?” Thorin asked quietly. “I envisioned you in a place like the Shire, not…”

“Sharing a flat with a dragon and living in London?” Jane finished. Thorin chuckled. She put a hand on his arm. “Thorin, I am happier than I ever was in the Shire.” He raised an eyebrow, and Jane explained. “By the time you all barreled into Bag End, I was middle aged, set in my ways, and bored silly - but ignoring it, because that was what I was supposed to do.” Thorin’s other eyebrow rose. “I had no close friends, and no marriage prospects, because I was what Victorians would have called a ‘confirmed bachelor’.” Jane cracked a smile at the cough from Dis, and the indescribable twitch of Thorin’s mouth. “I was also what they would have called a ‘gentleman of leisure’, and would have been quite the scandal in the Shire, if I hadn’t had money. Nori would have happily robbed me blind.”

That earned her a snort of laughter. 

“Going on the quest for Erebor was probably the most fun, and terror that I’d ever had in my life. As I said, your Majesty, I was glad to share in your perils.” Jane finished. “I had few friends when I’d left the Shire, and gained twelve.” 

Thorin opened his mouth to speak, but before he could, there was a knock on the open living room door. “Hello?” Mrs. Hudson said, peeking in. “Oh! Jane, I’m sorry, I didn’t realise you had visitors.”

“It’s alright.” Jane gestured Mrs. Hudson in. “Thorin, Dis, this is Mrs. Hudson, she’s our landlady, and a very good friend. Mrs. Hudson, I am happy to introduce you to two very special people from my past life. This is Dis, formerly Princess Dis of Erebor and the Blue Hills, and his Majesty King Thorin Oakenshield.” 

Mrs. Hudson’s hand flew to her heart. “Oh goodness! Jane, you never said you were friends with royalty! How do you do?”

“Well, more employee than anything.” Jane demurred, which Thorin ruined by responding to Mrs. Hudson.

“She was a dear friend, and close to our hearts. Please, call me Thorin.” He hadn’t moved away from Jane, but glanced at her as he finished his sentence. 

“And Dis,” Dis came over to take Mrs. Hudson. “We’re not acknowledged royalty in this life.”

Jane, trying not to flush (why did Thorin have to say things like that?!) nodded. “Thorin’s nephew, Kili, found me at New Scotland Yard, and, well, spawned a series of reunions.” 

“That’s wonderful!” Mrs. Hudson said, brightening. “You were worried that no one else would remember, Sherlock told me.”

Dis’ eyes flicked to Jane, who was agreeing. “I was.” 

“We were all actually looking for her.” Dis told Mrs. Hudson. “We’d hoped to find her someday. Jane is practically family.” She looked meaningfully at Thorin, who pretended not to see it (but the tips of his ears flushed, so Dis was taking it as a win). 

Mrs. Hudson smiled. “Would you like some tea dears, while you get reacquainted?” She offered. “I can bring it up, it’s not a problem.”

“No thank you.” Dis quickly replied. “Thorin has to go retrieve his phone from our younger brother Frerin, and I was hoping to drag Jane off for some coffee. We didn’t get around to talking much the first time around,” Dis explained, cutting off Thorin’s attempted protest. “And I’d like to get to know the young woman my children spoke so fondly of.”

Thorin looked thunderous, but with one pointed glare, the look changed to something more resigned. Jane blinked at the sudden change, and then cocked her head in Dis’ direction, while Mrs. Hudson looked a touch disappointed. “But we’d be happy to take you up on the offer another time.” Dis said kindly, which soothed Mrs. Hudson. 

“Besides.” Jane said. “You’re not supposed to be climbing the stairs so often with that hip.” She smiled at Mrs. Hudson. 

Mrs. Hudson rolled her eyes. “Oh please, Jane. I’m as spry as I can be at my age.”

Jane shook her head, but didn’t force the issue. “Sherlock will probably be in a bit of a snit when he gets home.” She warned Mrs. Hudson, before glancing apologetically at Thorin. “Sherlock and Thorin didn’t exactly get on, before.” 

“That is one way of putting it.” Thorin said defensively. Jane swatted his bicep. 

“I’ll keep it in mind,” Mrs. Hudson said mildly, noting the interaction. 

Thorin moved away with more reluctance than was probably proper, making Mrs. Hudson blink for a moment, and then accidentally share a look with Dis. Jane seemed to move much more slowly as well. “I’ll see you at the restaurant tonight?” Jane asked Thorin. 

Thorin inclined his head. “I would not miss it for all of Arda.” He vowed, smiling. 

Jane felt hot again, and smiled back. “I’ll see you then.” She turned to Dis, who was covering a smile of her own. “Lead on.”

* * *

  
Dis stirred a spoon of brown sugar into her cappuccino and amusedly watched as Jane purposefully turned off her cell phone, and gave the security camera in the corner of the Cafe Nero they’d ended up in a knowing look.

“Are you looking out for Big Brother?” Dis asked, jokingly. 

The comment brought a smile to Jane’s face. “Fairly certain he’s looking out for me.” She said wryly. 

Dis raised an eyebrow in enquiry, but Jane shook her head, and declined to explain. “Thank you for getting me out of there.” Jane said instead. “I haven’t been surrounded by that much overprotective male since the Army.” 

“Mmm. Overprotective males in uniform.” Dis gave Jane a crooked, wistful smile, and Jane nearly choked on her drink in surprise. Dis winked at Jane’s expression of shock. “My husband Vili - though he goes by Victor - is a member of the royal marines - home from his last deployment just in time, actually. You’ll have something to talk with him about.  I do like way Vili  looks in uniform, well, more than Fili and Kili would be comfortable knowing. The muscles on that man are wondrous. I also know a thing or two about the overprotectiveness issue. Female dwarrow  _ are _ hard to come by.”

Jane blinked, and then threw her head back and laughed, before clapping a hand over her mouth so not to further disturb the other patrons. “ _ Yavanna _ !”

“I’ll bet you thought I was going to be a carbon copy of my stern, grumpy eldest sibling.” Dis grinned, taking a sip of her cappuccino and a mischievous look in Jane’s direction. 

“The thought had crossed my mind.” Jane agreed, calming down. “But then, there is Kili to consider.” 

Dis nodded sagely. “He does get it from me, I’m afraid.” She was, however, grinning when she said it. 

Jane chuckled. “And Fili?”

Dis made a mock concerned face. “I’m very much afraid he hero - worships Thorin. Thankfully, Vili got to him before the grump set in.” 

Jane snickered. “Oh dear.” She said, taking a sip of tea. “That must have been a relief.”

“It was.” Dis said breezily, and then bit her lip, taking a hard look at Jane. “I admit, you are much less…”

“Fussy than described?” Jane finished, amused. “The Company exaggerates. I think.”

“No, more self-possessed.” Dis said thoughtfully. “And the Company likely exaggerates, it’s a dwarrow trait.”

“If it is, it’s a Hobbit one an’ all.” Jane said, her vocabulary slipping into that of Bilbo’s for the moment, but she shrugged. “My life this time around allowed me to keep the core of who I was, the strength I found (not the courage, Jane thought with a in internal shudder. Never that, ever again) on the quest. And in the army.” Jane smiled. “Well that’s what I think. Sherlock believes that I’m just as terrifyingly Tookish as I was last time.”

Dis raised an eyebrow. “Tookish?” 

“My - Bilbo’s mother was called Belladonna Took.” Jane explained. “The Tooks were known in the Shire for being wilder than normal Hobbits, and for having adventures. My - Bilbo’s father was a Baggins, but very solidly proper for a Hobbit. I was very Tookish for going on the Quest - something I had been ignoring for my whole life, that Tookishness - and oh did I hear how much I’d deviated from propriety when I got back.” 

“Nori mentioned something about that.” Dis said. 

Jane winced. “I’m sure he heard quite a bit about it every time he visited.” 

“And… Sherlock is...fine with you being Bilbo and Jane?”

Jane’s response was fond. “Turns out he’d been waiting for me to wake up for years, to complain about how much he hated being human, but mostly because he’s decided that I’m part of his new hoard.”

Dis coughed into her beverage. “I have an odd feeling that the Company will not like that.” Dis said eventually. Thorin especially wouldn’t like that last bit, Mahal help them all. 

“We’ve worked it out.” Jane shrugged. “It is something I have to talk over with the Company sometime tonight. Or just soon.”

“Likely sooner than later,” Dis agreed. She went to get a napkin, and when she returned, Jane was frowning at the tabletop. “Jane?” 

Jane hesitated, and after a moment she looked Dis in the eyes and responded. “Lady Dis, I... “ She looked away. “I am very sorry. I tried to protect them, I truly did.” 

Dis’ heart dropped into her stomach. She knew exactly what Bilbo would be apologising for. Jane was still speaking. 

“I took the Arkenstone to try and protect them, it seemed like a good idea at the time!” Jane was saying, and refused to look at Dis. “And in the end, it didn’t matter. Thorin, your precious, silly boys - I.”

Dis reached out and took the hand that Jane was using to crumple a napkin in an attempt not to cry. When Jane looked at her, startled when Dis wrested the napkin away, Dis reached up and used the napkin to wipe away the forming tears. “Bilbo Baggins, you have nothing to apologise for. If I have learned anything from the Company, and even before, it was that in tales of you, you did everything any being could have done to try to save my family, even from themselves - more, even at times. Considering the overwhelming odds, and Azog, even.”

Jane was shaking her head. 

“Jane.” Dis said. “I am also, slightly to blame. I let my boys go on that quest, knowing full well that one of them should have stayed in the Blue Hills to continue the family line. I let them go even though they were children because they begged, and my brother begged, and I had been homesick for the stone of my homeland for longer than I had ever cared to remember.”

Jane was riveted. Dis squeezed the other woman’s hand. “My boys, my whole family died. But we knew the risks, and what the cost might be. Durins never live very long.” Dis gave a painful smile. “But you can bet that when I joined them in the Halls, they got a very stern yelling at.”

Jane sniffed. “I thought...I thought you might hate me for not saving them. They were very dear to me, Fili and Kili, and - we never met, you see, and…”

“There may have been resentment at first.” Dis admitted, ashamed. “Why had the Hobbit lived after taking the Arkenstone, but my family had perished?" She was however, interested in that Jane had not mentioned Thorin, but perhaps it was because she was still, in a way, uncertain that she could. “But later I realised, through the Company’s tales, that you had loved them just as much as I had, had been nearly as devastated.”

Jane was nodding. 

“You went home alone to your Shire, and I still had my cousins, and my homeland was in the hands of dwarrow once more.” Dis finished. “I should be the one apologising, Bilbo Baggins. I should have reached out, written you a letter, extended some kindness.”

“You didn’t have to.” Jane said. “You had no idea who I was.”

“But I should have.” Dis countered. “Nori had reported, multiple times, that you were unhappy, alone, and just as sad as I had been.”

Jane looked at their hands, and then back up at Dis. “It’s in the past. We can’t change it, but we can move forward. Perhaps we can be friends this time.”

Dis smiled. “I was hoping that you would say that. I would be honoured, Jane Watson.” And sister-in-laws, if Thorin could get a move on. 

Jane returned the gesture. “Me too, Dis Durin. Especially if you can talk Thorin out of slaughtering my dragon. I’m rather fond of him, even if he is sometimes very trying.”   


“That may be a tall order.” Dis chuckled. “Considering that Thorin’s initial plans for his Burglar probably involved making sure that you were very, very safe.

“Maybe.” Jane acknowledged. “But it’s worth a try. Now, tell me about Vili, Frerin, and the Company. I have a funny feeling that I don’t want to go to dinner unprepared.”

Dis’ eyes shined. “Oh, gladly. They won’t know what hit them.”

Jane grinned, and this time it was a sly smile. “Oh, I hope not.” 

* * *

 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * King’s College London, the same place that the structure of DNA was discovered. (And incidentally where I study, I couldn’t resist!) [eds note: Rosalind Franklin was robbed.]


End file.
